Safe and Sound
by ferggirl99
Summary: The preview for the fall finale was awesome! The scene with the Nevilles inspired this offering. "So, she told herself, through this door was Nate. Jason Neville. Son of the man who killed her father, kidnapped her brother, and was ready to kill her on that stupid train. ... Beaten half to death because he'd been asking about ... her." (Upgraded to T because Miles swears a lot)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So I'm not sure what this is. I'm definitely not supposed to be writing fanfic right now (in the middle of nanowrimo) but I couldn't help myself. Just a little nugget inspired by the promos for the fall finale of Revolution on Monday (which looks epic, btw). I don't remember them showing Nate/Jason, and the last we heard he'd been beaten up by the militia for worrying about Strausser's mission to kill the group. Here's one way they could work him in… slight fluff warning, concussed!Charlie and concerned!Jason.

* * *

It was evening when they finally reached the Nevilles' house. Charlie looked up at the imposing brownstone with three armed guards at the door and shot Miles an incredulous look.

"Why are we starting here, again?" she asked for the thirteenth time.

"Shut up, Charlie," he snapped with no real annoyance. It was more out of habit than anything else, at this point.

"I mean, why not use the distraction Nora and Aaron are going to create to actually get in and find Danny? Why involve Neville at all?" she pressed, wincing in annoyance as a door across the street slammed shut.

Miles looked down at her for a minute while she worked to ignore the pain in her head. It had only been about 24 hours since she was knocked unconscious when a bullet grazed her head and she fell into a concrete wall. He was worried about her; she'd been quieter and almost sluggish since then. She swore she was fine, and wouldn't stop to rest even when Aaron pushed her to slow down.

Her stubbornness was why he'd modified his plan a bit, even though Nora had told him he was adding unknowns to an already complicated equation.

"You just worry about blowing up the armory without dying or killing Aaron, ok?" he'd responded.

"You're such a softie," she said with a hint of a smile to hide the worry in her eyes. That had been unfair, so he'd kissed her, knowing the likelihood of living through the next day were miniscule. There was more than one way to change the topic, he thought with satisfaction.

By now, she and Aaron should be moving into position, and if everything on their end went well, those guards would go running in a matter of minutes.

He looked back down at Charlie, who was watching him with a crease on her forehead. Worry or pain, he didn't know.

"Ok, I'm going to scout the perimeter. You do not enter the building until I signal, _is that clear_?" he glared at her. "I mean it, Charlie."

She rolled her eyes, but nodded gingerly. Pain, he thought with a sigh, and then headed off.

* * *

Nora looked at the city of Philadelphia stretched out before her. Standing on the roof of the armory building, she could see to the river, could see the ruins of the sports stadiums, and to the buildings where the American Revolution had brewed in the minds of patriots oppressed by a mad king. A flash of light from across the street caught her attention.

The signal. That meant Aaron was in position and ready to head up to the roof of that building. It was the only one that was of equal height to the armory, and she needed him to, with one throw, toss the fuse that she would attach to her homemade bombs. They didn't need to be huge, just big enough to ignite some of the barrels of gunpowder stored in the building below her feet. She wondered where Charlie and Miles, the sneaky devil, were. If he thought they were done with that conversation just because she would rather be kissing him than arguing with him (by a very thin margin) if she was never going to see him again… well, she was determined to get through this alive. After all, she had a score to settle with her little sister, at the very least.

She shielded her eyes against the setting sun and looked across the street to see Aaron tentatively walk up to the edge of the building. She really hoped he was up for this. Her confidence in him had increased, a lot, since the incident at the poppy baron's place, but it was still a long throw. She'd coached him through it: tie off the end so you're SURE it won't come loose, get a running start, throw underhand so the arc is upward and not downward.

It was with pleasant surprise a minute or two later, then, that she saw the unraveling ball of fuse heading straight for her. It cleared the edge of the roof, not by much, but it was enough. She fell onto it, holding it steady and waved her mirror in his direction. Time to blow this popsicle stand.

* * *

The explosion lasted for a few minutes – that would be the gunpowder barrels they'd been talking about, Charlie told herself reassuringly. It built in noise, starting as a low rumble and then escalating to ear-splitting proportions. It only took about 90 seconds before the guards at the door of the Nevilles' took off running toward the noise. With the street clear, Charlie only waited another minute before she slipped up the steps and slid inside.

It was blessedly quiet inside, and she leaned back against the door, crossbow in hand, waiting to see if anyone would emerge. She tensed when she heard footsteps, and brought it up, aiming as well as she could.

Miles emerged from the hallway, his hand over the mouth of a pretty blonde woman she'd never seen before. He rolled his eyes to see her standing there, wide-eyed and shaky.

"Sorry, did I signal and not realize?" he asked sarcastically. "You know your job, Charlie. Upstairs, third bedroom. Keep him there till I come get you."

She nodded and scampered up the steps, not really wanting to participate in whatever was going to happen next. She had made Miles promise to her, no exceptions, that he would not really hurt Mrs. Neville. But she knew that Miles had his own code, and while he was honestly trying to live up to her expectations, she wasn't really, truly sure where his line was or when he was willing to cross it.

The home was stately, furnished and carpeted as though the blackout had never happened. It showed no wear and tear from revolts and thieves, and Charlie wondered what it must be like to live like this. Then she was standing in front of the third door, and a whole other set of questions sprang to life.

They'd eavesdropped on a military tavern when they first arrived, listening for any discussion of troop movements or travel by high-level officials. That was when they learned that there'd been a recent shake-up, with one of Monroe's top advisors being implicated in rebel activity because of his son. The son was dead, the officer not likely to emerge alive from the interrogation unit. But what had caught Charlie's attention was the implication that it had only been brought to Monroe because Neville had needed something to save his own son's skin. "Stupid kid" had his head screwed up about some rebel girl, and had been caught asking questions about a sensitive mission. Neville got him home alive, but just barely, according to the drunken lieutenant telling the tale. He hadn't been seen or heard from in the two weeks since.

So, she told herself, through this door was Nate. Jason Neville. Son of the man who killed her father, kidnapped her brother, and was ready to kill her on that stupid train. But he was also his own man, who'd saved her more than once, sometimes from militia, sometimes from criminals, and once from his father, throwing her off the train when ordered to turn her over to his father's custody. Beaten half to death because he'd been asking about a mission that had involved her.

Something shattered in the room below her feet, and she squeezed her eyes shut to try and block out the throbbing in her head that amplified any noise. She prayed Miles had that under control. He had promised her, and he did not like breaking promises.

She reached a hand out and turned the knob. The door swung inward, coming to a stop on the lush carpet. There was no shout, no sudden attack by a longbow, so she deemed it safe to edge slowly into the room.

He was lying in bed, asleep, it appeared. Her job would basically be to just guard the door until Miles came for her, then. She set her things down on the floor, carefully disengaging the crossbow and trying to be as quiet as possible. She closed the door and was about to sit down herself when curiosity got the better of her. It was dim in the room, likely to help him sleep, so she couldn't see much more than the outline of his face from the doorway. The drunk's words – _alive, but just barely_ – echoed through her head and she padded over to the bed.

His nose was swollen and looked like it had maybe been broken and then fixed. There were fading bruises and scars all over his face, and some that had not yet faded poking out of the neck and arms of his t-shirt. He'd always been a light sleeper, so she was puzzled that she'd gotten so close without waking him, until she noticed a spoon and bottle on the nightstand. She picked it up and read _Laudanum_. Maggie had told her about it, and said it was only for use when someone absolutely could not sleep. It put them too far under, she'd said, and the dreams were often terrifying.

Unable to help herself, Charlie reached out a hand and ran her fingertips along the puckered edge of a scar on his forehead. This was her fault, somehow, she thought heavily, and her head pounded its agreement. Resolving not to bother him anymore, she leaned over to ghost a kiss onto his cheek.

* * *

Jason had been asleep for hours when the distant noises pulled him closer to wakefulness. The medicine that he hated so much had at least granted him that. For a moment, he thought he was hearing fireworks, that it was somehow the fourth of July and he'd slept through the show. And then he remembered that he wasn't 4 years old anymore, and rolled over in irritation.

That had been a mistake. His ribs were still tender and the quick motion had sent pain coursing through his body for a few breathless minutes as he'd lain as still as possible, waiting for it to pass. He was getting quite good at that, waiting out the pain. He'd almost made it to the other side of the spasm when two things happened that pulled him fully from slumber. Something shattered in the room below him, his father's study. Before he could react to that, though, the door to his room opened and someone stepped lightly inside.

He listened intently, lying perfectly still. There was a knife under his pillow if he needed it, and despite his injuries he was still faster than most militia grunts. He knew the sounds of his parents' footsteps, and those of the maid and nurse, and this person was too small, too light for that. A face crossed his mind and got his heart pounding a little faster. But it couldn't be her. Not here.

Still, as he lay there, listening, the sounds of gear being shed and leaned up against the wall were too similar to her daily routine: unload the crossbow, backpack down, hair braided to the side… he'd lain listening to her movements most nights while he was with them. Then she moved, and he could tell she was standing by the bed unarmed (the little idiot) and convinced that he was asleep. Her smell, although it was musky and damp as if she'd been underground, was unmistakably Charlie.

He forgot to breathe when he felt her fingers ghost over his forehead. The last time he'd touched her, he'd whispered in her ear before throwing her from a moving train. The smell of her hair still haunted him, and as she leaned over to drop a kiss on his cheek, Jason was suddenly done. He was done with patience and stealth and uncertainty. He opened his eyes and turned into her kiss, catching her lips with his own, and letting his left hand tangle in her hair at the back of her neck.

He felt her surprise and swallowed her gasp with another kiss. This time she melted into it, and every bone in Jason's battered body sang in triumph. Her hair slipped over her shoulder and fell across her face, so he reached a hand up to tuck it behind her ear. That's when he noticed the dried blood.

* * *

Charlie was just coming to terms with the fact that the man she'd been told was near death had come to life and kissed her until her head was spinning when he moved to push her hair behind her ear and then pulled back. Dazed blue eyes met his worried brown.

"Charlie, what happened to your head?" Jason sat up, pulling her into a sitting position too, and then pulled her face close to his so he could get a better look in the dim light. "That looks like a bullet graze."

"What? Oh. Uh, yesterday, in the subway." She was struggling to keep up, her body still floating and spinning on the wave of emotion. Or else she was just spinning. Really it would be great if that would stop. She could feel his eyes on her, and was at a loss. She didn't know what he wanted her to say.

"Tell me," he said seriously. It was standard training for officers to be taught basic medic work, identifying wound severity, recognizing concussions. And as much as he'd like to take full credit for the unfocused look in her eyes, he had a sinking suspicion that something more sinister was at play. He could see she was struggling a bit for balance.

"It's no big deal," she said finally, forcing her gaze back to his in a show of stubbornness. "The militia guy embedded in the rebels shot me after I shot him with my crossbow. I fell and hit my head and had a really weird dream about my dad, but I'm fine."

Jason's head was spinning for entirely different reasons. "Rebels? Charlie, where are Miles and Nora? Why are you here?" Kissing aside, he was starting to worry for his parents' safety.

She looked guilty and wouldn't meet his gaze. "He promised he won't hurt her," she whispered. "I didn't know what else to do. He said we had to come and make Neville talk."

Jason tensed, his whole body screaming to jump out of bed and run to his mother's aid. But he didn't know how many there were, and if Miles had promised Charlie she wouldn't be harmed… he was distracted when Charlie lurched to the side, her eyes unfocusing again for a minute. When he reached out to steady her, she pulled stiffly away, standing up and crossing her arms.

"I have to, I'm supposed to keep you here until he's ready for me," she said, bravado in her face. "So just stay there."

Jason took a moment to appreciate Matheson's brilliance. Miles knew that Charlie had a bad concussion, almost as surely as Charlie refused to admit any weakness and drove herself into the ground. He also knew that medical training was part of every officer's promotion. So he decided to settle a few things once and for all. He sent a weak Charlie to "guard" Jason, who could easily take her down despite a few broken ribs, and forced Jason to make a choice. He could try to confront Miles (who at full strength would use those ribs to his advantage) to save his parents, but he'd have to hurt Charlie to do it. And he'd show where his loyalties lay once and for all.

Charlie reached out a hand and braced herself on the dresser. Jason sighed. He knew what side he was on, and had for some time. Admitting it was terrifying, because it put everyone he cared for at risk. But he'd been losing confidence in his father and his general ever since Charlie Matheson had peeked into his life on that river bank. He wondered how long Miles Matheson had known. He would never have sent Charlie if he'd thought she might be further injured.

"You made Miles promise not to hurt my mother?" he asked her, drawing her attention back to him.

She nodded, and then winced. "Yeah, well, he wasn't happy. Wanted to know if I had any other requirements on my quest to save my brother. I said I'd let him know."

He smiled, as he did every time she stood up to the former general of the Monroe Militia. He'd watched Miles learn to care about her while he was their prisoner. Her charm lay in her unerring confidence that they could save Danny and still do the right thing. Often she was wrong, but that didn't mean that Miles (and Jason) didn't try to live up to that ideal for her.

"Ok, well, if I promise not to leave, will you let me look at your head?" Jason said a quick prayer that his parents would one day understand his choice, and held out his hand.

Charlie blinked at him a few times, as if she was trying to bring him into focus.

"My head? What's wrong with my head?"

"You said you fell and hit it yesterday," he explained slowly, letting his hand drop and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. She looked awful. He wondered how she'd made it through the last day, probably on just adrenaline and stubbornness. "I just want to check for bumps. Do you have a bump?"

She picked her hand up to feel for one, forgetting that it was holding her upright, and fell to her knees. Jason slid off the bed and sat in front of her, reaching out with two warm, steadying hands.

"You know, concussions can be very dangerous," he said, pulling her to sit on his lap as he gently ran his fingertips along the back of her skull.

"I don't have," she yawned and squirmed ineffectually, "no concussion."

He chuckled. "Grammar, Charlie." Then his fingers found a cherry-sized bulge and she cried out in pain. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "How did you not feel that last night when you lay down?"

"We," she was fighting tears, he could hear it in her voice, "we didn't sleep last night. Too much to do."

Jason was incensed. "Dammit, Miles shouldn't have let you go anywhere. You need rest."

She yawned again and leaned back into him, a totally out-of-character show of trust, which only made him worry more.

"S'what he said," she slurred, "Not safe, so awake instead. Safe here?" She barely got the question out before her eyes drifted shut in exhaustion.

Another piece of Matheson's plan clicked into place in Jason's mind as he held her. They hadn't had a safe place to sleep, so Miles had to keep her awake in order to make sure she didn't slip into unconsciousness again. But she wouldn't make it another night, so he'd chosen a house he thought he could take and defend, and sent her to Jason to make sure she was protected. At least she was through the 24 hour danger period and could sleep without needing constant waking.

Telling his protesting ribs to shut up, he gathered her into his arms and stood, laying her on the bed he'd just vacated. He draped one of his blankets over her and spoke over her sleepy protest.

"Yeah, you're safe here." At least for now, he thought with some trepidation. "Go to sleep, Charlie." When she trustingly did so, he leaned over and kissed her forehead, and then collected her weapon and bag and placed them next to his own bow, within easy reach. He reached under her head and slid his knife out from under the pillow, setting it on the table. He'd better get dressed; it looked like he had a rebellion to join.

* * *

**A/N:** So there you have it. I am tempted to write a bit of tense Miles and Jason dialogue, and check in on Nora and Aaron, but let's see if anyone likes this.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Whoa. You guys! What a great response to my little story. I'm old school and like to respond to people publicly (and there were too many to put them first!) so find your comments at the bottom. So sorry this one took so long to update – had to finish my nanowrimo novel and then agonized over where to go next with this.

What did you think of the fall finale? The Miles/Monroe standoff was so intense. Aaron's kindof a big deal, everyone recognized him, and he knows Rachel. And Miles didn't know Rachel was alive! I didn't see that one coming. I was disappointed that Nate/Jason (we still call him Nate in my house!) didn't make an appearance, but there was a lot of ground to cover.

Ok, enough of me blabbering. More story!

* * *

Nora and Aaron had set a rendezvous point four blocks east of the armory. The plan was to blend in with the panicked crowds and just fade out of the suspicious zone. The problem with that plan, Aaron thought with some irritation as he tried to stay out of sight, was that he didn't blend well.

He'd started east, grateful for the smoke-filled air and general sense of chaos, only to be met with an impromptu barricade of militia directing the crowd north. By his estimate, he'd walked about six blocks out of his way before it had seemed safe to turn east again. Night was starting to fall and the city's shadows grew longer and more menacing with each passing minute. There was only an hour or so before he'd be in violation of curfew.

None of this made him especially optimistic, but the icing on the cake of doom was the conversation he had just stumbled onto. He was leaning against a brick wall one block north of the rendezvous, catching his breath and scouting the area when two militia officers had paused to take a smoke break in the alley 10 feet to his right.

"I'm serious. They're saying he's here."

"Bullshit. If Matheson was in Philly, we'd have his head on a stake by now in front of the general's house." The second soldier was derisive. "Besides, why would he be that dumb?"

"Monroe's got leverage! Prisoners, I heard."

"You think that's what this armory thing is, don't you?"

"I dunno. But Matheson sure knows a lot about the militia, no matter what changes Monroe made after he left. I hear he's got a crew with him."

"A crew? Not even close. More like a dead weight group according to the guys with Strausser. A kid, some rebel girl and – this guy should be easy to spot – big fat dude with glasses. Not many of those left!"

The two men laughed and moved further into the alley, out of earshot. Aaron squeezed his eyes shut in panic. They had his description? Great, now even his eyesight was putting the group at risk. He thought about Priscilla, how he hadn't been strong enough, smart enough to protect her. And now, he was dragging people down again…

"You planning to stand here much longer?"

Aaron's eyes shot open. The woman had a newsboy cap pulled down over her eyes and covering her hair, but it was unmistakably Nora leaning on the wall next to him. She offered him a lit cigarette.

"Ew, no, those are so bad for you," he grimaced.

"Aaron, goddammit," she hissed back, "we need to look like there's a reason we're standing here, and smoking makes the most sense. Take the cigarette and fake it."

He did, fumbling with it and knocking ash onto his shirt. Still, he was able to blow a little smoke and hand it back to her.

"It's still gross," he complained, before lowering his voice further. "Nora, they know we're here."

"Nice throw earlier, by the way," she changed the subject with a determined grin, grinding the cigarette beneath her shoe and straightening up. Then in a tight voice meant only for him, she said, "Now, unless you want to chat with the reinforcements on their way down this street, I say we get moving. Got to beat curfew."

Aaron thought for a moment about just walking away again. He could find another small town and let this whole mess play out without him. Maybe it would be safer for everyone. But whether it was a sense of obligation to Charlie, a need to see through Danny's rescue for Ben and Maggie, or just a newfound stubbornness (matched, if he was honest, with the ever-present hope that if he somehow found Priscilla again he'd have something to offer her), he knew he wasn't ready to disappear.

Nora had already started walking. He hustled to catch up.

"Fine, but I want a hat next time."

* * *

Jason was halfway through packing a bag when a single knock sounded on the door. He hadn't even heard the footsteps approach, he thought ruefully. _Matheson._

Picking up his knife, he crept to the door and turned the handle. There was a momentary pause, and then with an impatient huff, the door was shoved open. It stopped short of banging on the wall, caught by the long carpet. Miles stood framed in the wavering light from the hallway oil lamps. Jason was relieved to see no obvious blood splatter.

"Neville junior." Matheson gave him a curt nod and pushed into the room, headed straight for Charlie's prone form. "Explain," he bit out with quiet menace.

"She's just asleep," Jason answered softly, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "She collapsed a few minutes after you sent her up here, alone, injured and completely vulnerable. Speaking of which, I hear you met my parents."

Miles leaned over the bed, brushing some hair away from the bullet graze on Charlie's forehead. When he seemed satisfied that she was sleeping and not unconscious, he turned back to Jason.

"So the guard I send to your room is asleep and helpless in your bed, I'm downstairs threatening your mother's life with a sword, and yet _you_ are still upstairs. And," he glanced into the half-full bag by Jason's dresser, "packing, apparently."

"A sword? She said you wouldn't hurt her," Jason's throat tightened with concern.

Miles rolled his eyes. "I said I threatened. I didn't say I followed through. And since when do you trust what I tell Charlie?"

Jason swallowed hard and looked away. This was much more difficult to say out loud than to decide when Charlie was falling into his arms with a concussion.

"See, I have a theory about you," Miles was suddenly next to him, sword raised and pointed at his chest. Jason glared but didn't bother to offer any resistance. Matheson could cut him down in an instant if he wanted to; he just didn't think he wanted to. "I think that you have been a good little soldier your whole life: did what Daddy told you, followed the rules, rose through the ranks. So good, in fact, that they picked you for a special mission: me."

"Except no one knew where to _find_ me." Miles' voice was dripping with sarcasm. "So Bass sends his goons out to track down whatever Mathesons are left. And you, you're told to hang back and follow anyone who leaves town after the militia takes my brother, hoping they'll be heading for me. Well, they wound up killing him and taking my nephew, but close enough. How'm I doing?"

"You seem to be enjoying this," Jason snapped.

"Well, you're an annoying twerp, that's for sure," Miles snarled back. "Where was I? Oh, right. So you track Charlie and Maggie and Aaron, ingratiate yourself with them, pretending to be a fisherman on the way to Chicago, but you'd have played a farmer on the way to Iowa or a rat catcher on the way to Syracuse if you'd needed to." His tone was derisive, and on a purely personal level, Jason wanted desperately to punch him in his smug face.

"But then," Miles glanced back at the still form on the bed, "my niece does what she seems to do best – she gets into trouble. And you're faced with your very first 'big boy' decision: do you interfere, which I presume you were told _not_ to do, or risk losing your only lead to me?"

"And that, soldier, is where my theory comes in," his voice lost a bit of the edge, and the former general sounded almost thoughtful. "See, I think there's a brain somewhere in that thick skull of yours, and somehow your father didn't beat it out of you. Maybe that's your mother's influence, maybe just bad luck on your part. But once you started making your own decisions, you had a rather hard time stopping."

Jason flushed and set his jaw, reminding himself that he'd earned this. He wanted to help Charlie, and knew that he could never really believe in the methods of General Monroe, but Miles had every right to question his motives. He'd betrayed them multiple times, and even if each choice had found him more and more conflicted, he'd always gone back to the militia.

"So here's where this leaves me," Miles growled quietly. "You have shown consistent, real loyalty to Charlie. I think you'd be fine tossing me to Monroe if it didn't mean she'd skin you alive, but she would. So you're… reluctant." He lowered his sword slowly, kicking at it with his boot. "And then there's today. I gave you what should have been an easy choice. You didn't even have to knock her out, idiot girl had already done that herself. All you had to do was _leave_."

"And I didn't," Jason bit out.

"And you didn't," Miles agreed. "So what the hell am I supposed to do with you?"

* * *

Tom Neville had had better days. He'd had lots of them since the blackout and his rise to a top officer in the Monroe Militia. He had power, prestige, and he could punch people whenever he felt like it.

Today had been shit. Julia had questioned him when they'd moved into that house and he'd decided to use the most soundproof room as a study. He found it soothing to block out the noise of the outside world. Soothing could also be deadly with Miles Matheson involved. Even thinking his name, the rage rose up and got the better of him, and Tom had to stop walking and just breathe until he was no longer seeing the street through a red haze. The anger simmered just below the surface as it always had, a living, breathing part of him that demanded blood in payment for wrongs.

When he was sure he could handle it, he continued walking. The damn soundproof room. Such a little vanity on his part; he'd been so sure that he was safe, in Philadelphia, the heart of the Monroe Republic. In the end, he hadn't realized anything was wrong until Matheson was standing in his home, a sword to his wife's neck. She'd been gagged, but her eyes were bright, begging him to stay strong. She'd shed no tears. But she didn't understand – without her, he was not strong, he was lost. Without her, there would be no reason for control. He might as well bunk up with Strausser.

So, when Miles Matheson had laid out the plan, Tom Neville had really had no choice.

"It's very simple, Tom." The former general was always calm, infuriatingly so. Even when he killed, he did it with an ease that Tom could not understand. Wasn't boiling rage a part of every man's soul? "You have to stay away from this house for twelve hours. If you do that, and you keep the rest of the militia away from this house for twelve hours, Julia lives. If anyone so much as looks at that door in the next twelve hours, I cut her throat."

"We have staff, servants who come," his voice had cracked, and he'd hated himself for the weakness. Julia was so strong, so brave, and he couldn't even keep his voice steady. "I can't exactly call them on the phone."

"Not my problem," Matheson said blandly. "Figure it out, Tom. And yeah, I know your son's here too. I've already got him secure. So don't try to be a hero. No one has to be hurt in this. Just go to work and don't come back for twelve hours."

And so he'd left. Walked out the door, leaving Julia and Jason in the house with Miles Matheson. Because as much as he loved his job, and believed in the strength of the Monroe Militia, he also knew firsthand what Matheson was capable of and how few men there were who could best him. The moment those twelve hours were up, he would hunt him to ground and exact the blood his angry soul so craved, but he would not sacrifice his family to do that.

He turned a corner and was confronted with an entire city block on fire. Staggering back from the heat, Tom looked around for someone in uniform. He grabbed a passing lieutenant.

"What the hell happened here? Isn't that the armory?"

"Yes, sir." The boy had to yell back to be heard. "Whole thing exploded about an hour ago, sir. Half the militia responded to try and put out the flames, but there's too much powder in there, sir."

Neville released him and stared in amazement. Certainly that was not the only place the militia stored weapons. But it was a big one. Monroe would be livid. He started walking again, this time to the general's headquarters.

Damn soundproof room.

* * *

Miles had just about had it with teenagers. And young people. Just, people in general. God, he could use a shot of whiskey. With his luck, Tom was still a teetotaler who didn't keep alcohol in the house.

He had just ripped this kid a new one, insulted his intelligence, questioned his motives, and generally been as unpleasant as possible, all while holding a sword to his chest. What had been Neville Junior's response?

"I'm coming with you." It was a statement, not a question.

Miles must be losing his edge. _Dammit, Charlie._ Somehow this was her fault.

When he'd outlined the changes to Nora yesterday, he'd argued that the plan was simple. Find Charlie a place to sleep off the concussion, get much needed breathing space, get some intel on Danny's whereabouts. Then get out of the house well before the deadline so that any trail is cold by the time Neville starts looking.

Nora had argued that giving Neville extra warning that they were in town was foolish, and that his son had no reason to help them. But he'd had a hunch this Nate/Jason/Neville Junior/whoever was more than hung up on Charlie. Miles knew he might have little to no regard for the rest of them, but every single time it had been a question of Charlie's welfare or his own orders, Junior had chosen her.

It was kind of sickeningly sweet, really. Miles was pretty sure the kid didn't even realize he'd been doing it so predictably. He was dead sure that Monroe and Neville Senior were much quicker to pick up on such weaknesses, and assumed that the fresh bruises and several sore ribs the boy was trying manfully to hide were a result of not being a good enough liar.

"Sir," Jason was talking again. "With all due respect, you need me. You've got too few fighters in the group, and more than a couple of liabilities, especially once you rescue the younger brother."

"For all you know, my nephew's the frigging Hulk," he snapped. But it wasn't likely, he admitted to himself. Ben had never been big on violence; with him as their sole parent, he was surprised Charlie could shoot as well as she was able.

Jason pressed his lips together in a thin line, and Miles realized his comic book reference had probably gone over the youngster's head.

"I've seen Charlie fight, sir," Jason said finally. "She's good, surprisingly so. But not trained, she's just… got good instincts. The way she talks about her brother, I don't think he's had to fight for much."

Miles sighed, and gave him points for being observant. He already knew Junior could fight, and he was very handy with that bow. Who was he kidding? He'd be crazy not to welcome him with open arms if he was genuine. It was time to be done with the games. He'd given the kid every opportunity to back out.

"There are a few rules," his sharp tone had Jason snapping to attention. "1. No weird stuff with my niece. I catch you two being stupid teenagers, you're out on your ass so fast you'll get rug burn." From the half-smile on Junior's face, Miles could already tell he was planning to break this one. God, he was going to have to babysit.

"2. This is no military command. You appear to have a brain, as I said, so I expect you to use it. Know when to follow orders and when not to. 3. Your job, first and foremost from here on out, is to keep my crazy niece alive. This is… more difficult than it seems." He nodded to her still figure across the room. "She'll fight you hard and often."

"I have noticed that, sir," Jason smiled and started to salute, and Miles waved him off.

"Knock off the sirs and the saluting. I'm no general anymore. I'll sit with her for a bit. Go see your mother for yourself," he said, knowing that farewell would be the final test of the boy's will. "Then report back. We leave in a few hours."

Jason nodded and turned to go, but Miles saw his hesitation. "Spit it out, kid."

"I… I never understood how you could do it," he said slowly, "I mean, you're a legend. You and Monroe. You were brothers. How could you walk away from all that? But here I am, for my own reasons, and suddenly it's a lot less crazy." Jason grimaced. "And a lot more complicated." He headed for the stairs.

Miles sat on the carpet, back to the wall, and laid his sword over his lap. "Life always is," he muttered to the silent room.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there was not nearly enough Charlie/Jason in that chapter (as there was none) but I have plans, people. PLANS! Besides, girl needs some sleep. I hope I didn't disappoint. My sister promised you wouldn't be mad. I can see this stretching out a few more chapters at least if you all are enjoying it.

Now, holy poop, reviewers! You guys. YOU GUYS. I don't even know what to say to the lot of you. What a nice welcome and an enthusiastic vote of confidence! You all totally made my week. Specifically, and in chronological order:

**Mae: **THANK YOU!

****** .csb: **I hope you liked this part!

**Inhalelove-exhalehate12: **That's incredibly nice of you. I try really hard to keep the characters believable and just get into their heads a bit more. That's the fun of fanfic for me. That and the "what if" scenarios. :)

**Guest: **Thank you! I really try to keep them in character.

**Soon baboon: **Yay for fitting in the backstory! (I was proud of myself.) I was also glad they worked her head injury in a bit in the episode…

**IronAmerica: **Thanks for the military perspective. It made a lot of sense to me that, especially lacking quick transportation and mass produced medicine, they'd need everyone to have some level of medical training. I do not have a military background, so I took a stab at it and arbitrarily chose officers as being worth the investment. Danny and Neville, huh? We'll see if I can work it in, but it will take some setup.

**Guest: **Why thank you! Such kind words.

**NotTellingAnything: **Thanks so much for letting me know!

**Avalon West:** I did it! 50k. That was grueling. I hope people understand why there was such a delay getting this bit of story out. Let me know how my Miles and Jason bits were. Miles is so much FUN to write.

**Becc-gallanter: **Voila! Updated just for you.

**Godisawesome: **Thank you! I hope this part lived up to expectations.

**The 39 foreva: **:)

**Softballlover298: **I know, I'm not sure why that's where so much of the fanfic has gone. There are lots of interesting characters and relationships, so I'm looking forward to playing with them! And yeah, no Jason in the whole episode? Not ok.

**Lovelikewoe13: **Thank you so much!

**Aslanprincess: **As you wish! (thanks!)

**Battygirl123: **I wasn't sure, but all the very kind reviews made it an easy decision.

**Bubblepops: **Thank you! Hope you liked this bit.

**FadingChaos: **Thanks for telling me!

**JunkoAmaya: **Yeah, I'm a sucker for getting in peoples' heads. Hope you liked this one.

**KitKat04:** Aw, thanks! I thought the episode was fun, but so much had to happen!

**Queenyuks:** Thank you!

**HolaitsCiara:** Continued! Thanks in large part to such nice comments. I agree, I really wanted them to set Jason up for the next part of the journey somehow. Oh well, now I get to do it.

**Bookdiva: **So many exclamation points! Thanks so much for your enthusiasm. Seriously brings a smile to my face.

**Kotero: **Yay! I promise there's more Charlie/Jason coming.

**Bookdiva: **Heeeey, you look familiar… :)

**Nyah1: **Thanks so much! Hope you liked this one.

**Infinite Legend: **Chason! Awesome. I didn't know they had a ship name, but I like it.

**Remuslives: **Yay for Professor Lupin. Oh, wait, wrong fandom. Thanks so much for the compliment on the writing. After a month of churning out words for nanowrimo, I was glad to take my time on something.

**Lost1219: **Thanks so much!

**Azab:** Thank you for the comment. :)

**Lady Krystalyn:** I was so bummed that he didn't even get a mention! I mean, Miles broke into their house to get his mom… he couldn't bring Jason along for the ride?

**Guest: **Thank you so much! I hope you keep enjoying it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. Seriously, it's a problem. I need a job.

**A/N:** Here we are again. I promised that I had plans, and you guys hung in there and waited patiently. This chapter and I… we did battle. I'm still not sure that I emerged victorious, but at the very least it was a draw and I decided to set it free. A little dramatic but it is 2 am.

So, angsty!Julia makes an appearance, sorry about that. She would NOT be quiet, and demanded to have her say. And we get a bit more concussed!Charlie, which is surprisingly fun.

* * *

Julia Neville sat in the dim study, alone and furious with herself, her husband, and her captor. She felt crushed by a helpless, bone-deep sense that Miles Matheson had well and truly outplayed them. She was afraid of him, and that pissed her off.

She knew anger kept you strong. Julia had spent her life living with and fighting fear. For one thing, anyone who said they hadn't had a few moments of debilitating fear in the weeks after the blackout was lying through their teeth, in Julia's opinion. But she had known fear long before the lights went out. Her mother's boyfriends had been a revolving door of loud-mouthed, smelly men with a tendency to anger easily, especially when a smart-mouthed little girl tried to assert her right to privacy or the television. She'd learned to control her anger, to be invisible, and scraped the grades so she could go to college far away from that life. There, she found Tom, and settled into a life with a nice man who had a steady job and a son they both loved.

Was her husband occasionally a bit of a coward in the first eight years of their marriage? Sure. But did she prefer that to the bullies of her youth? Definitely. She could be strong enough for both of them.

She shifted, testing the cord Matheson had used to bind her hands and legs to the heavy oak of the sofa in Tom's study. It held fast, and she slumped, frustrated that she could do nothing while Tom lived a lie to keep her safe.

He'd only ever wanted to keep her safe. Tom often told her the blackout had saved him from the life of a coward, but she knew it hadn't changed anything fundamental about who he was. After all, most bullies were, at their hearts, cowards who had discovered that there were others weaker than they. He was hers, though, and she believed fiercely in him, even if she had to look away from the pleasure he took in the more vicious parts of his job.

Now her Tom was on his way to lie to General Monroe's face – not that she didn't believe he could pull it off, but she did wish he had more vision than to simply cave to Matheson's demands. And Jason, her sweet Jason was upstairs, still healing from the beating he'd gotten at the hands of the militia. All she'd been able to learn from gossip and Tom himself was that there was a girl involved, and it burned her motherly heart to the core to think that he was punished so harshly for being young and stupid because of a pretty face.

When the door swung open, she tensed, expecting Matheson to be back with bad news. It hadn't been nearly long enough for the time limit to have expired.

"Mom," Jason breathed. "Are you hurt? Are you ok?"

"Oh, sweetie," her breath caught on a sob of relief. "I thought for sure he'd have… I didn't know what he'd do, once he knew you were here."

He came over and looked at her, checking carefully for injury. She bit back a watery smile.

"But how did you get away?" she looked around nervously. "What are we going to do? We have to get news to your father."

Jason froze for a moment, and she saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed whatever comment had sprung to his lips first.

"We can't go for Dad," he said finally.

"What are you talking about? How did you get past Matheson?" She was missing something important, and time was of the essence. "Untie me, Jason." Why wasn't he moving?

"I didn't," he stated simply, his hands clenched at his sides. "He knows I'm here."

Understanding, a cold hard ball of it, settled into the pit of Julia's stomach. She felt nauseous from its sudden appearance. She knew this boy's face intimately, despite the long stretches of military assignments recently. She knew his moods, his fears, his childhood dreams. And she knew when he was lying.

He was not lying to her now.

"Jason," she knew her voice sounded stern, like the teacher she'd been once, long ago. "You need to tell me what is happening. You need to tell me right now."

Tears sprang to his eyes, and the ache grew bigger. She told herself it was foolish, he would never, _never_ betray his family. It was not an option. Something else, there must be something else.

"You have to understand, this isn't about you at all," he started.

"Think very carefully about your next words, son," she interrupted, terrified that he would say something he could never take back.

Jason stood and walked a few feet away from her then. His pacing was soothing to her frayed nerves. He never paced, so she took it as a sign that he was unsure, that he could be persuaded, calmed back into good behavior.

"Don't worry," she cooed. "Whatever he's threatening, we'll figure it out together. You don't have to do anything." He didn't respond and she shifted, trying to keep him in sight as he moved.

"You know, in a way, though, it is your fault." He was looking at her again, but his dark eyes were dry. If she could just touch him, remind him what family really meant, Julia thought, surely he would stop. "You were so careful, when I was young, to tell me about strength and courage, and standing up to bullies."

"I don't want to hear this." She felt, for the first time today, that she might actually break apart.

"And then, when I got older you had… moments. Moments when you needed to separate yourself from what Dad had done, what he had become," Jason's voice was firm and confident. Julia looked down and saw her hands were shaking. "You would come to me. I was 10 years old, and I knew all about how he frightened you sometimes. How he reminded you of the men from your childhood, the bullies in the bedtime stories you told me."

"Do not talk about your father that way," she pleaded. "I was wrong, I didn't mean that. I was scared because the world was changing. He had to change with it, can't you see that?"

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "So I was always aware, you made me aware of the difference between justice and vengeance. And this year, the things that I've been told to do, that my father has _ordered_ me to do, that is not justice."

"Jason, please," she begged. But she knew his face, and it was set in a conviction that he hadn't had when he'd first walked in.

"You know, I'm scared," he admitted softly. "Because I love you, and even Dad. I don't want this to tear us apart; I don't want to have to choose."

"Then don't! Just don't," she whispered. "Not for Miles Matheson. Not for some girl you barely know."

He closed his eyes, and she knew it had been the wrong thing to say, bringing up the girl.

"But you and Dad made a choice, before I was old enough to understand. You chose to agree with Monroe's methods, his philosophy, his brutality." He gave her a long, searching look. "I remember when Dad first joined the militia, how happy you were. I asked why and I've never forgotten your answer. Do you remember?"

"Jason," she knew she was a broken record, but her son was about to walk out the door and become cannon fodder for the Monroe revenge machine. "Please, I'm begging you, just stop."

"Mother, I know you remember."

And she did. It had been an answer to her prayers, when Tom and Sebastian Monroe had found each other. "I told you, I said 'He'll use up his anger at work now, and come home happy to us.'"

Jason nodded. "How fucked up is that?"

"Don't you judge me, young man," she snapped, pride and desperation straightening her spine. "You have no idea how hard it has been to keep this family together, to keep your father from falling to pieces and taking you with him."

"You're probably right," he said evenly, "but give me some credit. It was just the three of us. I noticed things. And you like being a major's wife. You play politics well, Mother."

"You ungrateful little fool," she whispered. "I played politics because I had to - do you think your father can do that?"

"I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful," he said quietly. "Because I know I've had the best possible situation you could make for me. And I do love you. I just can't agree with you anymore."

"Jason!" she tried to stand, but the ropes pulled her back down to the sofa. "Don't be an idiot. They're using you. You're just a way in, you're disposable to them."

"I'm so sorry, Mother," he said, laying a hand on her head and kissing her hair from behind the couch. "I really am. But you taught me to fight for what I believe, and I don't believe you, or Dad, anymore."

* * *

Nora kept half an eye on Aaron pressed nervously against the side of the house as he watched for patrols and she worked on the back door lock of the Nevilles' house. It had taken almost an hour to find the house. Miles had said he'd wait for them, but he must be skittish to leave the door locked. Her head filled with the many dire possibilities; she'd disagreed with the whole Neville-centric plan from the start, as Tom Neville had always creeped her out. In her opinion, the further they could stay from him, the better.

The door finally popped free, and Nora tapped Aaron on the shoulder, indicating that she was going in first. He nodded, and she slid into the dark kitchen. She palmed a kitchen knife, happy for the extra weapon, and headed for the door with a small beam of light showing underneath. Aaron had come in behind her, but she continued to shush him. She wanted proof of the "safety" of their safe house before they started any conversations. She saw him pick up an iron skillet and smiled grimly. He was catching on.

The door opened onto a short hallway with a 90-degree turn that led to the front door, she assumed. Nora crept down the hallway, careful to keep her footfalls light. She heard voices, but it wasn't Miles or Charlie talking. Still, that voice was familiar. It bounced around the back of her mind until a face jumped into her head to match it. _Nate_. The militia kid they'd hauled around with them for a while. Otherwise known as Jason Neville.

"You play politics well, Mother."

She was close enough now to catch snippets of the conversation when their voices were raised. They were coming from a room near the front door, which was standing open and lit by a few candles. She could just see silhouettes of the boy, standing, and a woman sitting on the couch.

"Jason! Don't be an idiot…"

Shit, that sounded like he was about to be a hero. And if the plan was working correctly, Nora grimaced to herself, the only person here to be a hero against was Miles.

"…you taught me to fight for what I believe…" She strained to catch the rest of what he said, but it was lost as he seemed to turn away from the door. Why was he walking around free? Where the hell were Charlie and Miles?

She looked at Aaron, and sent him to take a position behind her. No way was she letting this punk threaten all that they'd worked for. She had some scores to settle with Miles Matheson, and they required him to be alive and in… working order.

Jason walked through the door and she thought for a split second that he looked sad, before she rushed him and got the knife up against his throat.

"Don't. Move," she whispered.

"Jason!" his mother was yelling from inside the room. "Don't you touch him! Jason!"

"Nora, right?" he said carefully, eyeing the edge of the kitchen knife. "Listen, you don't understand."

"Oh yeah, and you're going to explain it to me, are you?" she dug the knife in a little deeper, drawing blood. She idly noted the healed over bruises that showed along the side of his face. "I don't think so."

Mrs. Neville was still yelling threats of what she would do if Nora hurt him. Upstairs, a door banged open. Now that she had him, she needed to secure him somewhere.

"Aaron," she started, looking in front of her for any sort of cord to use in tying him up.

"Everyone just calm down," Jason was saying.

"What do you want me to do?" Aaron asked at the same time.

Overwhelmed with the noise, Nora looked over her shoulder at Aaron for a moment, and Jason moved fast, ducking out of her hold and twisting her wrist until she dropped the knife. She hit back, kicking hard with her foot and hearing a grunt of pain as she nailed him in the ribs. He didn't let go of her arm, so she couldn't dive for the knife. Her brain registered two sets of footsteps on the stairs as she grappled with the bigger, stronger young man.

"What the hell?" That was Miles, she thought with some relief, glancing up involuntarily and catching his gaze as she fought to get close enough for another kick.

"Stop it, you guys, stop it!" That sounded like Charlie. Nora felt Jason turn to look up at the sound of her voice. Then she caught a motion out of the corner of her eye and ducked out of the way, grinning, as Aaron took advantage of the break in the action to swing the iron skillet at Jason's head. He went down hard and his mother screamed.

* * *

Charlie had been having the weirdest dream. She was in Philadelphia, staying with the Nevilles as their guest. Everyone was dressed in suits and gowns. She had her own room, a maid to clean her clothes, but was stuck wearing that awful one-shouldered dress from the poppy plantation. And then Jason was there, and he was kissing her, but then he looked at her head and sent her back to her room with no dinner. And then everyone started yelling.

She came jolting awake as the noise registered. A woman was screaming "Jason" somewhere downstairs. Charlie met Miles' startled eyes; he looked like he'd just sprung up from a seat on the floor. Without waiting for instructions she swung her legs over the side of the bed (Jason's bed, her groggy mind suddenly registered) and was wobbling through the door before Miles could finish an order that she stay put. She hadn't realized she could move that fast at the moment.

The hallway seemed a bit crooked to her, and she wondered why they didn't have a house with more straight lines and less spinning, but she made it to the stairs and grabbed the railing, easing herself down a few levels so that she could see what was happening beneath her.

Jason was shaking Nora's arm, and she was holding – no, she'd just dropped a knife. Aaron was looking nervously determined. Jason's mother was screaming in the room behind them. Charlie heard Miles pound down the stairs behind her.

"What the hell?" he yelled, sounding totally baffled.

Charlie's head was throbbing, and the stairs seemed to be moving up and down like waves on a lake. If everyone could just hold still, just for a second, she thought desperately.

"Stop it, you guys, stop it!" she begged.

Jason looked up at the sound of her voice, which was all the time Aaron needed to bean him with a huge black frying pan. He staggered, and then went down on his hands and knees. The screaming intensified and Charlie flinched.

"Goddammit," Miles said, looking tired. "Nora, shut that damn door so Julia can stop serenading us. Aaron, put the kitchen utensil down. Charlie, where are you…?"

But Charlie had already guided herself down the rest of the steps, swinging around the corner as Nora reached for the door. When he'd fallen she'd felt something in her stomach clench, and all she'd been sure of was that she needed to get to him. She dropped to her knees, reaching to help Jason sit up as the woman in the study stopped screaming with a strangled gasp. Charlie was holding onto his shoulders, half to keep him upright and half to hold herself steady, when the cessation of noise drew her attention. She looked up into a pair of green eyes burning with so much anger it felt like a physical force pushing her backwards.

Then Nora closed the door and Charlie took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the shivers racing down her spine. Jason was fighting to clear his head, his eyes squeezed shut. His hands had come up to cover hers. Aaron set the pan down with a clunk, and she glared at him.

"What did you do that for, Aaron?" she asked. "He'd stopped fighting!"

"How was I supposed to know he was actually done?" Aaron muttered.

"You could have asked," Miles answered, leaning over the railing and surveying them with a half-amused expression. "Now she's going to make us carry him up here to recuperate."

Charlie nodded, about to argue for exactly that, but had to blink through another wave of dizziness.

"Sokaycanwalk."

It was barely words, but she smiled in relief when she saw that Jason's brown eyes were open and looking over at her with dazed concern. He squeezed her hands and brought them down off his shoulders.

"You," he made a careful effort to separate each syllable, "are supposed to be asleep."

"People were screaming," she defended herself. "You try sleeping through that."

He stood up slowly, rubbing his head. Miles was watching them both with a raised eyebrow. Aaron and Nora were standing off to the side looking sullen (Nora) and confused (Aaron).

"What happened? I feel like I got run over by a train," he muttered.

"Aaron," Charlie said, "well, Aaron and a big skillet."

"Nice hit, big guy," Jason started to shake his head, and then thought better of it, wincing. "This how you welcome everyone to your team?" He reached to help her up from her seat on the floor. She wobbled a bit and his eyes narrowed. Charlie blushed as vague impressions of strong hands and warm kisses and worry filled her head. She wished she remembered exactly what they'd talked about. What did he mean, he was on their team?

"What? Sorry, since when _exactly_ are you on our side?" Aaron echoed her thoughts, sounding immensely skeptical.

"Yeah, ok, enough," Miles came down the stairs, exasperation written all over his face. "Charlie, you're supposed to be resting. You," he shot Jason a warning look, "make sure she goes back to sleep. We have six hours and counting."

"Miles, any chance you're going to explain what the hell is going on?" Nora said tightly.

"Kitchen," he snapped in response, including Aaron in his command. "Bring the damn pan."

* * *

Jason's head hurt, his ribs hurt, and his emotions were downright raw after the confrontation with his mother. He was glad Matheson hadn't made him stay and explain himself all over again. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to do it. He and Charlie made their way back to his room in silence, his arm around her waist to keep her steady.

He paused at his door uncertainly. "Look, there are other bedrooms. I can, uh, open one up for you." He shot a glance at her face and caught a whiff of her hair. "You don't have to stay in here."

"It's ok," she said quickly. "I… it's nice to know where I am."

He shrugged and eased her through the door. This time, she handed him her jacket, and he sat her on the side of his bed so they could pull off her boots. He looked at her jeans dubiously.

"You ok to sleep in those?"

She laughed, just a little. "No, every night before bunking on the ground, I slip into something a little more comfortable," she teased.

"I'm just," he blinked away the image that brought up determinedly and tried to focus on the conversation. "I meant, do you want something to wear? Something else." He was falling over himself like a 12 year old, he realized with a sigh.

"If you don't want my pants dirtying up your sheets, by all means give me something else." She held up her hands in resignation from her seat on the bed, and then set her left hand down fast, needing the extra support to stay upright. He was about to turn away and dig for options when something on her right wrist caught his attention.

He reached over and snagged her arm on its way down. There it was, in white scar patches from a hot iron brand, the mark of the Monroe Militia. He skimmed his thumb across it, shocked.

"Charlie? When did this happen?" He sank down next to her, still holding her arm loosely in his grasp. She sighed, and then leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. Jason raised an eyebrow at the repeat of her overly trusting behavior – he'd have to remember that head trauma made her cuddly.

"There… there was a recruiting ship," she said softly after a moment. "They were forcing kids to join. We were trying to help rescue one of them, so I went undercover. The officer didn't like my attitude," she chuckled darkly. "So he had me go first. It took two of them to hold me down."

The room was very quiet for a few minutes as Jason struggled to contain the outrage that boiled in him. He remembered his own branding, and the satisfaction he'd felt in volunteering, in not crying out with his father watching proudly during the ceremony. But it had _hurt_. He bent his head against hers, fighting for calm.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. It wasn't the right thing to say, it couldn't fix what had happened. But he didn't know what would.

"It's ok," she said, trying to fight a tired yawn. "We rescued them all, and burned the ship. That felt good." She opened her eyes and looked down at her wrist sitting in his hand. "It hasn't bothered me for a while."

Jason knew it would bother him for a very long time. He impulsively pressed a kiss to the scar before letting go and walking over to his dresser. He could feel her eyes following him.

"Here, have these, they're old and soft." He tossed a pair of old flannel pajama pants onto the bed. "I'm not sure why my mom kept them, to be honest. They haven't fit in a while."

She reached for them and nearly faceplanted into the mattress, catching herself just in time. "When do I stop spinning?" she asked in frustration, rolling onto her back and glaring at the ceiling.

Jason yanked a shirt out for himself, and crossed back over to her. "You need sleep," he said softly, brushing some hair off her face. "It should be better when you're rested."

"It has to be," she said despondently. "How am I supposed to help rescue Danny if I can't even walk straight?"

"One thing at a time," he deflected, because he had no good answer for her. "I'm going to turn around, and you're going to, you know, switch pants." His cheeks burned, and he silently cursed. He hadn't blushed in years.

"What?" she sounded distracted all right. Distracted and outraged. "No, you have to leave!"

"Charlie," he said with a laugh, "you just fell over trying to turn around. No way am I leaving the room and risking you trying something stupid like standing on your own." He crossed him arms pointedly, and then turned to face the wall. There was a moment of silence, and then he heard frustrated huffing and the sounds of cloth moving. _Do not picture what is happening, do NOT picture what is happening_, he repeated to himself. That didn't work, so he started in on multiplication tables.

He'd reached 7x7 = 49 by the time the rustling behind him stopped. Then a small, warm pair of jeans landed on his head.

"There," she groused sleepily. "I hope you're pleased with yourself. You're worse than Miles."

Jason took a deep breath, and turned around, her pants in his hand. She was still on her back, one arm thrown over her eyes. She looked small and fragile, but he knew she was stronger than she seemed. He took a minute to just appreciate that Charlie was actually here, lying in his bed, wearing his pajamas.

He really, really wanted to kiss her. _So what's stopping you, jackass? _He gave Miles' warning about 3 seconds of consideration before deciding to ignore it. He was just moving toward her when her arm slipped slightly, and he realized that she'd already fallen asleep.

_OK, then. _So much for that. Well, he couldn't just leave her lying sideways across the bed. Jason gently reached under her legs and neck, lifting her up to where he'd turned back the covers. He tucked her in, brushed her hair out of her face and then snagged a few pillows and a blanket for himself. As he settled on the floor, his knife at his side and his bow within reach, he caught himself listening for the sound of her even breathing.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

**A/N: **Frying pans! Who knew, right? ;)

Chances that Miles gets brained with one by Nora next chapter? I'm going 50/50. She has a lot of rage.

I forgot to mention last time around: **THANK YOU to all the favorites and follows** (there are so many!). I do a lot of following stories on FF myself, to see where it goes when I don't have time/feel like typing a review on my 6 year old phone. So I appreciate you guys.

Crazy wonderful reviewers!

**Lovelylola15: **Sorry this one took so long. See first author's note about me and the chapter doing battle. Also see: master's thesis which is still not done. I hope you enjoy!

**Aslanprincess: **Hooray! Always glad to fill a need. Thanks for the encouragement!

**Becc-gallanter: **Nah, you're MY hero for the super nice review. Danny, I am working on Danny. But this chapter got long, so he didn't make it in. (Darn Julia.)

** .csb: **Thank you! Jason's one of the more difficult ones to keep in character, since we don't know a lot about him. But I'm trying hard!

**Nyah1**: Charlie was awake! For a little while. I've never had a concussion, but it makes for a lot of fun writing ideas. I promise all this sleeping won't go on forever.

**PixieSky: **Haha, here you go! You're welcome, and thank YOU. Thanks so much for the kind words. I do agonize a bit over tone and style.

**Bemac**: Oh, Jason's such a rule breaker. We already know THAT at least. Mathville! Sounds like one of those educational games I played when I was a kid…

**Soon baboon: **You're not kidding, writing fluff is AGONIZINGLY hard if you don't want it to be super cheesy. I'm never quite sure I get it right. So thank you VERY much for the kind words. And yeah, for me fanfic is all about the challenge of writing something plausible enough that you don't have to suspend too much disbelief.

**Teaguere:** This whole "winter finale" thing that shows are doing is so MEAN. Months to wait halfway through the season. Sigh. "None of your business" is now always followed by "Nate" in any conversations between me and my sister. Oooh, Jason in the helicopter? That would be a twist for sure, but I would be sincerely disappointed if they made him actually shoot at them. I think he's pretty far from the "good soldier" at this point, and it makes him way more interesting. Thanks for breaking down the ep with me and I hope you liked this chapter!

**PP-PhantomPhoenix:** I know, right? At least give us a gratuitous "poor Nate all beat up in bed while Miles kidnaps his mom" shot. I'm sure it has to do with how many episodes they paid JD Pardo to be in, but it drives me nuts when regulars just don't show up in episodes at all. Thanks for reading!

**Bookdiva: **You review like I review – long and enthusiastic. I love it! So sorry that this took me so long, but I have defeated the chapter and it's all yours now. And you can totally review more than once if you want, I was just teasing. :)

**HolaitsCiara:** Yes, I did! Thank you for the comments, I LOVE when people get specific about what worked for them. :) I rewrote the babysitting thing a few times, and was very happy with where it landed.

**Avalon West: ** Thanks so much! It was my first nanowrimo, so I was unaware of what a MESS it would make of my last week in November. Oh man, Miles is by FAR my favorite character to write. He's so. Much. Fun.

**Softballlover298: **Yay for favorites! Yeah, all those headgames going on in this show… and you know Miles is good at them. Thank you!

**Bookdiva: **Hello again! See, you didn't even need me to tell you. Hope you liked the Chason moments here… it's not going to be super heavy fluff, because, you know, all sorts of stuff is going down around them. But yeah. Jason's adorable.

**Cori: **So glad you liked it! I love making people laugh.

**Shelly: **Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Merry Christmas, happy late Hanukkah, or just yay for breaks from school, lots of snow, and family time. I'm sorry for the slow update. I was hoping to do one a week, but I had a few editing jobs I had to do this week and then I was bridesmaid-ing all weekend! Individual comments at the end, as usual. And as usual, you are all absurdly kind and wonderful.

Back to the story. I bring a few more characters we haven't seen yet in this chapter! That's why it's so, so long. Sorry!

**A/N 2:** Woke up this morning certain that I'd done something terribly wrong, and realized that I'd put the sections in the wrong order when I posted last night! Oops. This is why we need sleep, kids. Fixed now.

* * *

"Explain to me one more time how this could have happened."

Sebastian Monroe's voice was deceptively quiet in the ornate room. He was surrounded by his top officers, men who had put their lives on the line for his republic countless times. And he was furious.

Major Tom Neville had arrived at the same time as two Colonels who had been stationed across the river. Jeremy Baker was already inside, his blond head bent over a map on Monroe's desk, no sign of his trademark smirk. Neville had politely allowed the other two to enter first, willing his hands to stop shaking as he imagined pummeling the daylights out of Miles Matheson. 11 hours to go.

Now he was waiting awkwardly, having saluted and been waved to the side. Monroe had his target for the moment. The man in question was pale as a ghost, soot-stained, and stuttering excuses about chain reactions and gunpowder reserves.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Monroe growled.

Oh, Tom really hoped the poor man was out of his mind enough to answer that question in the affirmative. That would at least lead to a nice public execution, something to distract the general and the public.

But no, instead there was groveling and more excuses. Tom fixed his gaze on the window opposite his current position and tuned out.

"I cannot listen to this nonsense for another second," Monroe cut in, drawing Tom's attention back to the conversation. "Jeremy, show our babbling fool of an Armory commander to his new temporary quarters, please."

Baker allowed himself a small smirk and saluted before pushing the terrified man out the door.

Silence reigned for a few seconds while Monroe stared off into space, seeming to collect his thoughts. Tom decided to take the offensive.

"Sir, what steps have been taken? Should we be looking at our soldiers stationed at the Armory?" he asked, pleased with the cool confidence he heard in his voice. He had every right to be in this room, speaking his mind. Julia thought he should be in the big chair, but at the very least, he felt himself to be Monroe's equal.

"Ah, Tom, yes." The general's blue eyes swiveled to his face. "Thank you, by the way, for joining us. I was about to send out a search party." Monroe quirked a small smile, oblivious to the shudder that passed through his officer. "I presume you were delayed at the scene?"

"Yes, sir. It is rather chaotic," Tom nodded sharply and kept his tone bland. Better to not blather, he thought, ignoring the twist in his gut.

"Indeed." Monroe walked over to the map that he and Jeremy Baker had been looking at earlier. Tom craned and saw that it was, in fact, rough blueprints of the building currently aflame. "The odd thing is, unless poor Gerald is lying through his teeth to save his skin," he paused and looked around the room for dramatic effect, "the room where the explosion started is on the top floor, the restricted access portion."

At least Tom didn't need to act out his confusion. He legitimately had no idea how the gunpowder had been triggered.

"Only three people have that key," the grey-haired colonel sitting in the wing chair volunteered.

"Exactly so, Ron," Monroe looked pleased that someone had followed his logic. "Myself, our erstwhile Gerald, and his second-in-command Sergeant Harry Williams. Williams was on duty inventorying weapons at the research facility. He has produced his key, as has Gerald." He pulled a shiny silver key from his pocket and let it dangle. "And this is mine."

"So, not theft," Tom began reasoning out loud.

"Do I have to explain everything?" the general snapped, clearly done playing games with his lieutenants. "If he's right and the damn explosion started upstairs, someone had to have enough explosive know-how to rig a blast that would blow through the two floors above the gunpowder reserves."

Tom leaned closer to the blueprints, considering. "And possibly the roof."

Monroe's eyes widened and then quickly narrowed in concentration. "The damn roof. What's the narrowest street next to the armory?" The group settled on 23rd Street, and was searching for a street map when Baker walked back into the room. He was brought up to speed, but instead of joining in on the search, he walked over to Monroe and crossed his arms.

"You know who this is," he said firmly. Tom raised his eyebrows. Talking like that to General Monroe was generally asking to lose a body part.

Monroe paused in his pacing and glared back at Baker. "We have no proof," he snapped. "Strausser wasn't even sure she had rejoined the group."

"It's Nora Clayton, and that means Matheson is here," Baker pushed ahead doggedly. "General, we need to take precautions."

Monroe held his steady gaze for almost a minute before breaking eye contact and walking calmly around the desk to his chair. The entire room watched him lower his tall frame into it, waiting for the inevitable explosion that always accompanied Matheson's name.

But he was eerily calm. "Ron, you will head the Armory team. Jeremy, Tom, go and secure the prisoners."

"General, sir, what about your safety?" Baker began, only to be cut off by the icy cold Monroe.

"We're done. That's an order, soldier."

Tom glanced at the general's hands methodically twisting a dagger deeper and deeper into the wood of his desk. Maybe he wasn't quite so calm. Aware of the volatility lurking behind the smooth exterior, he hastened to comply.

"Yes, sir!" He snapped off a salute and turned to leave the room. Baker did the same.

"Oh, and Tom?" The door was inches away, he'd come so close to making it out of the room. "Send word to Julia that you'll be late for dinner. I want you with the boy until this is resolved."

* * *

Miles was pacing the kitchen, aware that he was annoying the other two people currently standing in the relatively small space. He'd already checked the cabinets, but found no hidden bottles of single-malt. _Figures._

Aaron spoke first. "God, I miss refrigerators." He grimaced at his own incongruous statement, grabbing a loaf of bread from the counter and tearing off a hunk.

"The whole range of electronics, and you're stuck on food?" Miles snarked.

"Who cares what he's stuck on?" Nora hadn't uncrossed her arms since they entered the room. She looked positively lethal, just the way Miles liked her best. "Miles, we did our job. What the hell happened here?" She shot him a supremely disgusted glare.

"Nothing _happened_," he growled. "I followed the plan, Charlie passed out, and Junior Neville reacted the way I told you he would. Then you showed up and brained him with a goddamn frying pan."

"He was alone, plotting with his mother!" she spat back. "Yes, you clearly had everything under control."

"Now wait, I didn't hear him _plotting_," Aaron cut in carefully around a mouthful of bread.

Miles rolled his eyes. "No, you just hit him with a blunt object."

Nora stood, silently furious, and Aaron shrugged and started poking around the cabinets. Miles took a few calming laps around the small room, finally coming to a stop by the back door. He peered out for a few seconds, watching for any movement. The silence stretched uncomfortably long, and he knew he'd have to be the one to break it.

"I made a call," he said finally, turning back to face them. "We are a walking disaster; we won't get within a mile of Danny at the moment."

"Aaron and I did just fine at the Armory," Nora snapped.

"Which is great, except that they have five more weapons depots, and we still don't even know where to start looking for my nephew." Miles crossed his own arms, staring her down. Nora might be volatile and stubborn, but logic would usually filter through that hot head eventually. "Charlie's a liability on her best day, Aaron's not exactly a trained fighter, and you and I can do a lot of damage, sure, but we're up against the best he's got."

Aaron made a noise of protest, and Miles waved him off. "Look, you have your moments; I just don't want you in hand-to-hand or aiming a sniper rifle."

"Fair," Aaron nodded, which made Nora scowl. "What? It is fair."

"So, instead of going to a local rebel base or finding our old friends – you made the call that Tom Neville's lying ass of a son was the right addition to our merry band?" she asked.

Ok, so much for logic. Miles sighed.

"On paper, it doesn't make a lot of sense." There was a pause as he tried to put his gut certainty into words that she would understand. "But you have to see – he's young, he's smart, and he doesn't buy the bullshit that Neville and Monroe have been feeding him. And he's crazy about my idiot niece."

That got Aaron's attention. "What? Wait, isn't that a good reason to keep him as far from her as possible?"

"Normally, yes, with swords and arrows to back up the 100-yard restraining order." Miles allowed himself a moment to visualize a giant, booby-trapped fence around his stupid, innocent, foolish niece that still believed that people were good and that good guys would win. "But not only can he get inside information, he will also watch her when and if we can't."

The mood turned serious for a moment. "You both know that there's a huge probability that we don't come out of this alive," he said softly. "So I wanted to give the kid a fighting chance."

Aaron swallowed hard and looked down at the food he'd been collecting with a slightly green tinge to his skin.

Nora's face softened infinitesimally. "You're a damn soft-hearted schmuck now, Miles Matheson," she said flatly. "I hope it doesn't get us killed." She let that settle in the quiet room before she turned to leave, saying, "I'll watch the front."

The door swung shut behind her, and Miles looked over at Aaron, who was shaking his head.

"_What_?" Miles was getting damn tired of disapproving looks.

"Oh, nothing." Aaron nonchalantly sliced a chuck of cured meat off the roll he'd found and then continued with an innocent tone that made Miles grit his teeth. "I just wouldn't necessarily have let the entire conversation pass without asking her how she managed to pull off the most public defeat of the Monroe Republic in its home city. You know, if I was hoping to make out with her later."

* * *

Charlie awoke with a start, nameless panic clouding her sleepy mind. She reached to where her weapons usually were next to her head. Instead, she came up with soft sheets. The dream she'd had was gone, a faded, fuzzy memory that left only residual fear. It took a moment to calm her breathing as, slowly, the events of the night came back to her.

Miles breaking into the Nevilles' house. Going up to Jason's bedroom. Feeling safe and able to finally sleep. Jason and Nora fighting. Aaron hitting Jason with a pan. Warm pajama pants.

She blushed, embarrassed by how pleased she was to remember the last one. And hadn't there been kissing? Surely she hadn't imagined that.

"Charlie?" Jason sounded sleepy and concerned. "What's wrong?"

She swallowed a few times, as even more memories rushed back. Not just kissing, she'd definitely snuggled up to him. She'd been dizzy and he'd been so big, and warm and sturdy… _Cut it out, Charlotte._ This was totally unacceptable. Miles would be furious if she trusted Jason. In fact, where was Miles? Why was Jason alone with her in his bedroom?

"I, uh, nothing. Bad dream," she said shortly, hoping he would leave her alone. She needed to think.

But, no. He was up and coming over, a question in his brown eyes and no hint of deception on his face. _But you didn't see it the first time, either, _she told herself sternly.

"How are you feeling?" He reached toward her head and she drew back, instinctively nervous to have him touch her again. His eyes narrowed, but he pulled his hand away.

"I'm fine," she muttered. Why was this so awkward? What did she care if he was being nice to her again – she knew better this time. He'd thrown her off one too many trains.

He watched her for a minute and then smiled slightly. "Well, I can see you're feeling better," he shook his head. "You were far too cuddly last night."

Charlie felt her face go hot and she was sure she was lit up like a summer tomato. "I had a head injury," she said sullenly.

Jason watched her blush spread across her face and down her neck. He was relieved that she was acting more her prickly self, even if it did give him a pang to think of how nicely her head had fit on his shoulder last night. He glanced at the clock in the dim pre-dawn light. About an hour until Miles had said he'd be expecting them, _good_. There was enough time to talk.

"Listen, I've had a concussion once or twice myself," he said calmly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I know it leaves behind a jumbled mess of memories."

"Well gee thanks, Doc, but I don't really need a checkup right now." The stubborn look on her face was adorable.

Jason pressed ahead. "That means you probably don't remember much of what was said last night. And," he watched her eyes dart to the door hopefully and a scowl color her face when Matheson did not appear, "that means you don't know that I'm joining you."

He had her attention now. "What are you talking about? You're militia. You can't just swap sides."

"I'm branded, like you," he said tightly, still burning over that revelation. Charlie glanced down at her wrist, and he could see the moment when she remembered that conversation flit across her face.

"But I haven't agreed with my orders for most of the year, and, and the time had come to make a choice." And yeah, maybe his choice had something to do with the skeptical blue eyes holding his gaze, and maybe he just couldn't bear the idea of their ragtag group taking on Monroe against such unfair odds. But she clearly didn't need to know that.

"So go join the rebels," she said, sitting up straighter and pushing her hair back across her shoulder. "Why do something that puts you directly in the path of your father?"

He looked at her, amazed at how quickly she had unconsciously accepted his decision and moved on to the problem of how he should follow it through. Miles was right, she was far too trusting, despite her best efforts to the contrary.

"Let's just say I'm," Jason hesitated, not wanting to sound weird or creepy. "Uh, I'm looking to make up for some of what my father and I have done." He'd seen the love and desperation on her face in that train car. Her brother was clearly the most important person in the world to her.

So he would get Danny back for her. And if they lived through it maybe someday, with no head injury necessary, she might look at him with just a little of that same depth of feeling.

"But I _begged_ you to help us in Pennsylvania," she said. "When Danny was there, and we could have taken him without Monroe even being involved."

She didn't ask it, but the question hung there between them: _so, what changed?_

* * *

Danny Matheson was bored. It had been two days since he'd left his cell. Sure, they shoved him food through the bars and he had a little drain for his bodily fluids, but he was smelly and cramped and so utterly bored.

He'd heard the rumblings of thunder a little while ago. It had reminded him of a science lesson from a few years ago. Aaron's had insisted that you always count the time between the flash of lightening and the crash of thunder to judge the approach of the storm. Danny, of course, could see nothing in here.

He hadn't even had the chance to take his frustration out in anymore impromptu fights, like he had when Neville had been transporting him. The guards were under orders to leave him alone, he guessed, because they always ignored his catcalls and jibes.

The only mystery in his monotony was the person they'd brought in last week, locked in a cell at the beginning of the hallway. His was at the end of the long room, so he hadn't been able to see anything when they'd brought the person in. He'd heard a fair amount of crying since, but all that had told him was that the person was scared. A guard had said "she" one day when they brought the food, so he thought it was a female.

His thoughts drifted to Charlie, and he shook his head. His big sister would have been yelling his name as they dragged her in, and she would never have stayed in a corner crying. Danny couldn't actually remember a time when he'd seen her cry, now that he really thought about it. No, the sad, quiet person wasn't Charlie.

A door clanged at the other end of the hall. He perked up, smashing his face into the bars in case he could see anything. Whoever it was stayed in the entrance. There were some low voices, and then another door closed loudly, leaving the cold makeshift jailroom in silence.

Danny sighed, and slid back down to the floor. They'd chosen his prison well – he was completely unable to hear or see anything. He had resigned himself to another few hours of mental geography quizzes when a small, thin voice interrupted his thoughts.

"They've all gone."

He scrambled to his feet, trying to see who was speaking. It still wasn't Charlie, or his newly-discovered mother. _The mystery prisoner!_

"What, all of the guards?" he called back.

"Yes, but I think they locked the door." There was a pause, and then the voice continued. "I'm Eve."

So it was a girl, he thought, pleased with himself.

"I'm Danny," he said, thinking a moment too late that he probably shouldn't give his real name. He was never going to get the hang of this life. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," her voice was very quiet, and he had to strain to hear it. "They've only, they just made awful jokes. But I haven't seen my dad in days. They're making him do something, because I'm here." The last two sentences came out in a quiet rush, as thought she'd been thinking them over and over for days.

Danny grimaced sympathetically. He was pretty sure his mother was strong enough to take on Monroe himself, but he knew that his being there was making it hard for her. He hated being a pawn.

"I'm sure he's fine," he offered a little weakly.

"I'm not," she said. "The last few days, the guards keep looking at me funny. And they had been letting me write to him before. To keep him working." He heard her sniffle and then she fell silent.

"Well, I hope he's ok," he said. There wasn't much else he could say. He waited a few minutes, always alert for the sound of the door opening. Finally, the silence had stretched too long for him. "Where are you from?"

There was more sniffling, and then she answered, "Ohio. But we lived in Chicago, before."

Danny drew in a breath to respond, but the scrape of the lock turning had them both moving away from the bars of their cells and assuming an appropriately normal (in Danny's case, bored) position.

_Eve, from Ohio. _Danny settled into his bench and started constructing a picture in his mind of what Eve might look like, and why her family had gone all the way to Ohio after the blackout. Finally, something to occupy his mind.

* * *

_What had changed? _It was a question Charlie needed him to answer if she was ever going to be able to trust him.

Jason thought back to the train, to bursting in and finding his father with a gun to a blond boy's head, and Charlie looking both murderous and terrified. He'd grabbed her as a reflex, needing to keep her close and controlled in the face of his father's rage. And he was damn glad he had, because he'd looked into his father's eyes that day and known that he really would kill her, just to show he could.

His entire world had shifted then, buffeted by two separate realizations. The first: he'd known in that moment that he wanted keep her safe and far from the reach of his father and their like. The second had taken longer, but it had started with that act of disobedience, grown when he'd overheard Monroe send a butcher on a mission to slaughter her, and only cemented when he'd talked to his mother a few hours ago. The militia wasn't keeping the peace anymore, it had become the monster.

"It just…" he considered telling her, really confessing that she had spun his life around until nothing made any sense anymore. And then he chickened out. "A few things happened, starting on the train and ending with this," he gestured to his mottled, bruised skin.

It didn't feel like enough, so he tried to explain. "I've been following orders my whole life."

"Not since I've known you."

"Yeah, well, you have a tendency to throw off my nice orderly plans," he said ruefully. He felt himself flush _(again? The second time in a day? He was doomed.)_ and stood up, pointing to their packs sitting side by side on the carpet. "Speaking of which, we have about half an hour before your uncle wants us ready to go."

She slid out of bed reluctantly and grabbed her jeans, which he'd folded neatly and put on top of her pack. "Right, well. If you've already got Miles on board, I don't really have much say, do I?"

"Not really," he grinned.

She glared and pointed at the door. "Out so I can change. I haven't had a door since we almost all died at the heroin dealer's house."

"The what?" Jason blinked. "You have got to bring me up to speed."

"Out!"

He moved toward her, and she backed up a step, her eyes wide. He held his hands up in an unthreatening gesture.

"I just want to check your head before I leave you unsupervised," he promised. "No taking advantage." Even if he really wanted to. And even if he suspected that she also wanted to. She had every right to take her time.

"Fine," she said, turning with an eyeroll that looked suspiciously like her uncle's signature expression. Well, behind his badass commanding general look. Jason really wanted to emulate that one.

He walked behind her, close enough that he could feel the sleepy warmth radiating from her body. She lifted her hair up, out of his way, but he shook his head. Then, realizing that she couldn't see him, he cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Uh, actually, the bump is higher. In your hair."

She sighed and dropped her hair all at once, a shiny cascade that took Jason a bit by surprise. With a deep breath to steady him, he gently parted her hair and felt for the lump that had been so tender the night before. It took a moment before his fingers found it; she hissed when he applied a little pressure. He dropped his hands, stepping back.

"It's, uh, smaller," he said. "So that's good."

"It doesn't hurt like it did," she said, turning to face him. "More of an ache than anything."

For a moment they stood there, about a foot apart, watching each other's faces. Both of their breathing sped up, and he thought she might just close the distance. But she looked away and bent to pick up her bag.

"So you've checked. May I have the room, please?" she asked a little breathlessly.

Jason left. As he sank down outside the door, he couldn't help a small victorious grin. So not _all _of her attraction to him was based on losing consciousness, then. He could work with that.

* * *

**A/N** – So there it is. I did my best, my friends. Laid some groundwork, got in some insults, a bit of smolder, some Miles thought patterns. And Danny! And Monroe! And poor Gerald.

(Also, I'm dating myself with this, but while writing Pandora threw up Hoobastank's "The Reason" and I got all kinds of Miles emotions. Especially the first verse/chorus.)

**Mogget0607: **You are right. I am working on that. Thanks!

******Summernightscsb**: Yeah, Julia Neville gives me the willies on the show too. I hope they take her somewhere cool. Thank you for the vote of confidence. I tried to write from Charlie's perspective this time and Jason just nixed that. So… more introspection.

******AndYourPoint**: Aw, thanks! The highest of compliments for fanfiction, to be sure.

**PixieSky: **There will be plenty more comforting!Jason, as he is much fun to write. He just has to convince non-loopy Charlie that he's for real. Thanks!

**Bookdiva: **The frying pan should have its own imdb page, I mean, it was in LOTR too. Don't worry, I'm terrible at writing angst for angst's sake, I always like it to lead to something better for the characters. Sorry it took so long!

**Softballlover298: **Yeah, considering how willing he's been to stand up for her, I can't see how he'll be ok with the branding story. So glad you liked it!

**Nyah1: **He is, isn't he? *noogies Jason*

**Soon Baboon: **Thank you so much! Oh, I'm an agonizer, that's for sure. Even with this one, I was hurrying to get it out and I feel like it's so jumbled. But I have revised it three times, so it was time to let it go. I hope you liked it!

**PP-PhantomPhoenix: **Nice, I knew all the cool kids would get that bit in the author's note. Thanks so much for your awfully kind comments. They give me the confidence to keep on trying to write this thing.

**Becc-gallanter: **Well, I hope you STILL like long chapters, because this was another one. Thank you for the awesome review!

**AslanPrincess: **Danny! As requested. It IS hard to write him, and especially when he's not really able to do anything. But that may change…

**Beth Elia: **Shhhh, stop stealing my notes. Momma Neville (I love it) has some bite to her, so I'm looking forward to that.

**Inhalelove-exhalehate12: **Thank you so much! I do really want to give you guys something worth reading, not just my 2 am raw ideas.

**Star46783: **Thanks so much! The long chapters are just because I get so carried away and they're all so _talkative._

**Kotero: **Thank you! They have a long way to go before it's safe again, that's for sure.

**Readball: **Wow, thank you! Sorry for the wait, I hope it was worth it.

**Avalon West: **I feel like the TV writers are juggling a LOT of storylines, and if they're not careful it means they miss out on little opportunities (like, say, including Jason in the ep!). Thank you very much for the compliment!

**KitKat04: **I restrained myself this chapter, but I make no promises that Nora doesn't surprise him later. Glad you enjoy the realistic style!

**Lovelylola15: **Thank you! I'm not stopping, just slow, I promise! I even have a plan all written down for future chapters!

**Scifigrl10: **Aw, thanks! I hope you like the update!

**Cori573: **He would, wouldn't he? And then he'd look surprised that it worked. Aw, Aaron. *hugs Aaron, who looks surprised*

**Bookdiva: **Voila! Just for you.

**The rellaysj: **Hahaha, well I don't want you stuck rereading old chapters! Here's a new one for you. Thanks so much!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** – Oops.

Uh, Happy New Year! And almost happy valentine's day…

So, yeah, my once-a-week schedule slipped JUST a bit. So sorry, guys. Combo of a bit of writer's block, the holidays, and a mad dash to finish grad school.

Anyway, enough excuses! Thanks for all of your reviews, favorites and follows. Reviewers all get personal apologies below, as usual.

This is a shorter update, but I'm so desperately embarrassed to be silent for so long that I wanted to give it to you. This story started out as just a plot bunny from a promo, and now I'm growing it in all kinds of ways. I hope it's still fun!

* * *

It was the hour before dawn, dark and cold as the tense curfew lay over the city. Soldiers were finishing their patrols, eager to head back to base and hand off to the next group. The residents of the neighborhood were asleep, however nervously, probably hoping that the new day would bring answers and calm after the panic of the explosion. And Miles Matheson was stealing through the streets.

He knew the city intimately, even after so many years away, and he would have felt free and fearless if it wasn't for the motley crew trailing behind him. Pausing in an alley to let a street sweeper pass, he looked back at them and silently counted. Niece? Check. Junior? Check. Nora? Glaring from the gloom. Aaron? _Oh, crap._

This must be what a grade-school teacher felt like, he thought darkly to himself, motioning the group back to the center of the dark alley. Except, of course, most teachers weren't worried about their students being shot for treason. He moved silently back to the entrance they'd just used, scanning the streets behind for any sign of the bumbling technology executive.

Charlie followed, and as he felt her come up beside him he bent a look her way, a silent warning to stay put. She rolled her eyes and pointed across the street. Time was, he had a whole army that saluted any time they saw him. Now he had eyerolls and glares, if he was lucky.

He squinted in the direction she was pointing. They had crossed from the small side street that was directly opposite a few minutes ago, and he saw no sign of Aaron there. _A good thing, too_, he thought, as the latest pair of militia soldiers had just turned down that street on patrol. If they didn't keep moving, his timing was going to be thrown off and they'd never get close to Bass or headquarters. Or Danny.

Charlie let out a frustrated little puff of air and pointed again, more insistently. She was about to open her mouth to just tell him, but he shook his head sharply. The last thing they needed was to wake up someone in the apartments above and get reported.

He refocused his gaze across the street, tensing when he finally found what Charlie had been indicating. There, in a recessed doorway about 50 feet from the street now patrolled by two chatty militia men, was Aaron. He was skulking as far back into the shadows as he could, but it wouldn't take more than a cursory glance to pick him out. Miles looked more closely at the patrol. They'd turned to face the alley where he and the others were waiting, but didn't appear suspicious, just lazy. Their position meant there was no way that Aaron would make it across the street unnoticed, however. He was at a loss as to how to get Aaron to safety without bloodshed they didn't need.

The sky was softening, going grey around the edges. It was almost dawn. A tap on his shoulder brought his attention back to the group arrayed behind him. This time it wasn't Charlie, but Jason who stood just at his back. How had they managed the switch so quietly? Damn ninja kids. Miles raised a questioning eyebrow.

The kid indicated a circular pattern, pointing down the alley, to himself, and then to the patrol loitering across the street. He wanted to play decoy by sneaking out the other end of the alley and coming around? Miles stopped a moment to consider – young Neville would have the most likely and truthful story to explain himself. But even his excuses weren't ironclad. They might just arrest him again. _But what better ideas do you have, Matheson?_

Miles grimaced. He couldn't wait it out – the timing of the next few intersections was too important. He nodded shortly in the dim alley, indicating to Neville that he agreed, and then held up a hand. Assuming the kid wasn't about to betray them all, they'd need to agree on a rendezvous.

They had three more checkpoints to pass before they were anywhere near the next safe spot to talk. Junior would have to make his own way to meet them there. Miles pulled out the shorthand plan he'd written a few hours ago. He'd intended to destroy it so that if he was captured it couldn't tip Bass off to the others' movements. But he was glad now that he'd forgotten.

He jabbed a finger at a scrawled abbreviation, about half-way down the scrap of paper, and waited for acknowledgment from Junior. The boy nodded and jogged off down the alley. Miles stuffed the plan back into his shirt, ignoring Charlie's frantic confusion. As long as she stayed quiet, she could mouth whatever she wanted his way.

Although he hadn't realized she even knew _that_ word.

* * *

Danny slept poorly. The air felt heavy and his hard cot seemed to have a new lump every time he turned over. When he did manage to fall asleep, he had dreams. Well, nightmares.

He saw Charlie, lying dead on the side of a road near home, stretched out next to their father. The militia men were laughing, and his mother was nowhere to be found. That faded, only to be replaced by General Monroe, holding a gun to his mother's head and asking him over and over, "Where in Ohio? Where is she from?" He pleaded that he didn't know, they hadn't talked about it, but the general kept pulling the trigger. His mother would slump to the ground, only to disappear and re-enter from a side door, walking calmly to her death with disappointment in her eyes.

A rattle of the bars woke him, but he refused to acknowledge it. The guards baited him all the time, and his reactions were one of the few things left he could control.

"Get up, idiot," the guard ground out, whacking the bars again with his nightstick. "You've got a visitor."

_Mom?_ It was an irrational hope, but it had him sitting up and turning to see, though he did his best to keep his face neutral.

"Hello, Danny boy."

The voice sent an icy finger down his spine. The cold eyes that went with it were an unwelcome surprise. Neville. What the hell could the sick bastard want with him now?

"Captain." He kept his voice flat, and leaned back against the wall, hoping to God he looked unconcerned.

"Not happy to see me?" Neville's smile was feral, and Danny scowled as he fought back a shiver. "You served me quite well. I got a promotion, you know. It's Major now. See that you remember."

A quick nod to the lingering guard had the door to his cell swinging open. Danny was hauled to his feet, one arm twisted behind his back. They knew he liked to throw elbows, he thought with a grim smile.

"Shall we go for a little walk?" Neville asked. "I'd like a word that's a bit more… private." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back down the long hallway.

The guard propelled him, stumbling, forward. Danny was on high alert. Any moment could bring the chance to escape. He hadn't been out of the cell since they'd brought him to meet his mother.

_His mother. _He skidded to a halt, causing the guard to twist his arm harder in annoyance. He couldn't escape without dooming his mother.

"Control your prisoner, sergeant," Neville snapped.

With a shove from behind, he was moving again. He could see the captain – no, _major_ – waiting impatiently at the end of the cell block. As they got closer, Danny remembered someone else: Eve. Her cell would be close to the end. He cut his eyes to the left, and sure enough, she was standing close to the bars, watching silently. He got the impression of lots of curly blonde hair, pale skin, and wide eyes that might be grey before he was past her and turning the corner to leave the jail room completely.

Neville was swinging his handgun loosely in his right hand, but he tensed and raised it when the guard released Danny's arm.

"My turn," Neville said, and his grip was tighter and more painful than the guard's had been. The cool metal of a gun barrel on his neck kept Danny from protesting. Gritting his teeth, he let himself be marched out of the room, around several corners and through an atrium.

_This place is huge_, he thought with some frustration. He could barely remember the series of turns they'd taken to get to the small room where another guard was currently tying him to a chair.

"You have a gun," Danny pointed out unnecessarily as the guard finished and left the room. "Why tie me up too? Scared I might hurt you?"

Neville laughed nastily. "He speaks! No, boy, I'm less likely to shoot you for the hell of it if you're immobilized."

"And you don't want to do that, since General Monroe happens to want me alive," Danny snarked. He knew he should be stoic and silent, but what was the point? He didn't _know_ anything, so the only information that could get revealed in this conversation would be on Neville's part. Might as well keep him talking.

"For now," Neville shot back, striding across the room to get right in Danny's face. "I'll be first in line if that should change."

"Nice to know you care."

"You have caused me nothing but trouble, boy." Neville hadn't given ground, and was staring Danny down with a vengeful glint in his eyes. "I'd love to repay the favor."

"You killed my father," Danny ground out, his voice cracking at the end of the sentence. "Consider it repaid."

"Oh, I did. I was ready to relax in my townhouse, mark it a mission completed, and forget all about the Mathesons and their troublemaking ways." Neville paced to the door, looking out through the soundproof pane at the guard standing 10 feet away.

Danny's attention sharpened. He was talking in plurals. That must mean he knew something about Charlie.

"So why are you back? I haven't been all that busy," Danny said. "Not much space to get into trouble."

Neville was across the room in three strides, slamming his palms against the table so it rattled. "He came to MY HOUSE!" he yelled. Danny flinched in spite of himself. Here was the soldier with no leash on his vicious temper that Danny had met a few times on the trip. The madman capable of anything.

The older man's hands were shaking when he lifted them from the metal surface. "He came to my house," he repeated. "He put my family at risk. He has made this very, very personal."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Danny knew that, somehow, Charlie had tracked them to the train in Pennsylvania. There had been the awful moment where Neville threatened to kill her, and then his soldier had thrown her from the train.

"Oh, that's right," Neville cracked a nasty smile. "You would have been too young to remember your dear Uncle Miles, wouldn't you?"

* * *

Jason's heart was pounding almost as much as his aching head, not surprising considering how fast he'd just speedwalked four city blocks to circle back to this intersection. He didn't glance at the alley, but did take a moment to lock eyes with the fat guy, Aaron, who was still cowering in a doorway. He'd looked much more intimidating wielding a frying pan. But it had to have been a long ten minutes, Jason supposed, considering that these militia men were stalled way too close to his position. He winked quickly, and then blanked his face, moving on.

Putting his hands in his pockets, he shuffled further down the street, trying to look for all the world like someone legitimately on his way home. Trouble was, curfew didn't lift for another hour and a half. No one should be out without a permit or a uniform. Jason had neither.

He heard the moment the military banter stopped, the men likely hearing his footsteps and deciding whether or not to challenge his passage.

"Hold on," one of them called out. "We need to see some ID, sir."

He'd had four blocks to come up with a plan. It wasn't great, but he was hoping they'd bite. He turned down the street toward them, knowing that he needed to get their backs to the alley in order for Miles to give a signal to Aaron.

"Of course, of…" Jason dug down into his pockets and looked deliberately sheepish. "Well, shit. I forgot I had to change suddenly on account of the firefighters." He was almost level with them now, and he put his hands in the air with a shrug, looking as unthreatening as possible.

The taller soldier on the right let a hand drift toward his gun. His patrol partner just looked confused.

"What's one got to do with the other?" the tall soldier snapped.

"Listen, boys," Jason said soothingly, "it's been a hell of a long day. First the explosion, and then the salvage, and then the firefighters hauled in these huge buckets from the river and didn't check to see whether any militia were in range."

He'd circled around them, moving to a stoop about 10 feet beyond their location and sinking down as if bone-weary. They turned, as he'd hoped. Now to buy time. "I'd have just kept my uniform on, because really, it would have saved us all the trouble, but the captain was furious and made the fire crew pay for dry clothes for all seven of us."

"Where's your uniform, then?" the shorter soldier asked.

"Getting cleaned, of course. That river water is filthy! Not to mention all the soot. I reckon Captain Forsythe saw a chance to save us men some money." Jason carefully dropped the name of the company captain whose men bunked a house down from his own on training missions. He knew their faces, and could be sure these two weren't among them.

"Forsythe, eh?"

"Who're you, then? No papers, no uniform. Mind showing us your tattoo?" The taller man had moved his hand away from his gun, but still looked dubious.

Finally, something he did have. Sliding his sleeve up, he gave them a few seconds to verify that it was genuine. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the street behind them. Hopefully Matheson had Aaron back with the group and someone else bringing up the rear from here on out.

"Private Matty Jones," he said, extending a friendly hand. "Nice to meet you. Now would you let a poor soldier go home and get some sleep?"

They all shook hands, and the patrolmen indicated that he should wait as they moved off to discuss his fate. Jason sunk his sore head into his hands and smile grimly. He wasn't about to get arrested again. He could take these two despite his injuries, he was certain. He wished he had the smooth wood of his bow to rely on, but his father had taught him how to fight in any situation. He'd give the old man that much credit.

But his nerves were unnecessary. The shorter soldier – Joe, he'd said his name was – ground his cigarette under his boot and grinned.

"Sorry to keep you, Private. Just doing our jobs."

Jason relaxed his shoulders and stood slowly. "Much appreciated," he nodded to them.

"Course, other patrols might not be so forgiving," Bill, the taller one, said coldly. "I'd hurry home if I were you."

As their footsteps faded down the brick street, Jason acknowledged the sting of those last words. He didn't have a home to go back to, not anymore.

_Might as well go forward, then_, he chided himself as he started walking. He'd probably beat them to the rendezvous. One man could move faster than a group in the dark before dawn.

* * *

**A/N: **So there you have it. A bit to get me started again. Your reviews do the rest. (Charlie was SUPPOSED to get her own segment this chapter, but she's misbehaving and Miles made her wait.) I know there was no fluff, but I had to do SOMETHING to get the plot moving! Like I said above, I'm aiming for weekly installments. And now that I've said that, I'll be forced to do it.

**And now, my lovely reviewers:**

**Cori573: **It's a small fandom still, for sure. I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

**Soon baboon: **This doesn't count as soon, I know, but hopefully you still like where it's going!

**Becc-gallanter: **I'm so glad that you like the pace with Charlie and Jason! There's a lot of stuff happening to them, and so I just can't imagine that falling in love would get their undivided attention. Sorry this one wasn't as long! I will fix that. Next time. :)

**AslanPrincess: **At long last! Your request actually inspired a whole subplot for me. I know this was chapter was mostly a filler to move the plot out of the house, but I loved writing Danny and Neville. So snarky, so mean. I hope it lived up to expectations.

**Nyah1: **Thank you! Sorry they didn't get a chance to make eyes at each other here… there's always more of that coming, though.

**Yessiree: **Thank you! I love them too. So much potential!

**Inhalelove-exhalehate12: **Oh good, I'm glad you don't think it's getting out of hand. The only problem with more characters is less space for Charlie and Jason to make nice. But I'm working on it. Got a couple of good ideas.

**Ashy143: **Waiting till March is AWFUL. So glad you're watching and enjoying! And I'm awfully sorry this took me so long. Silly holidays.

**PixieSky:** Thank you for the kind words! Yeah, Danny's had a tough time of it. At least Charlie's doing something and feels like she has a mission. He's just getting beat up and used as leverage. But hopefully he's starting to wise up.

**Boasamishipper: **What an AWESOME review. Yes! Exactly. Good catch, and I bet you can see where the drama is going to come from there.

**Softballlover298: **I totally understand! Maybe now that it's dreary January I'll do better with updates and we'll all be happy.

**Bookdiva: **LOL – you hadn't reviewed! I felt so abandoned! It took me FOREVER to figure out the next bit. And then I got lazy, and baked pies, and there were baby goats, and I graduated! But yeah, this was my bad.

**Wierd Goth Girl: **Thank you for the review! I am usually much better about updates.

**Happyhappybobo: **Thank you! I hope this was entertaining too.

**RLBB: **Thanks for the compliments.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **BOOM. Ok. So, I needed to rethink a few things, and watch the end of Downton Abbey, and cry tears. I now have a plan, and an endgame. (I sortof had that before, but it needed work.) I still have no beta or person looking this over but me, so mistakes are likely.

I'm going to try and wrap up this story before the show comes back on (which is March 25). So, yeah, updates will increase dramatically in frequency!

Also, this story has 100 reviews, which is crazy. You're all wonderful and patient and fun! Hellos at the end, as usual.

Oh, and I haven't said it in a while, but I don't own this. Trust me, they wouldn't be taking 3 month hiatuses if I did.

* * *

They'd been walking down a deserted side street for about ten minutes when Charlie picked up her pace and caught up to Miles.

"Do you think this will work?" she asked, for what he was certain was the thirtieth time. She hurried to explain when he just looked at her. "It's just, there are so many things that could go wrong. If Aaron doesn't make it to the gate, or if Nora's stash isn't where she thinks it is. And what about you?"

"Kid," he said, finally breaking in on her questions, "it's the best idea we've got."

"But what if they just shoot you?"

"Oh, trust me, Bass will want a chat first," he smiled grimly. "Unless Strausser's running the show, they'll have questions for all of us. The only one I'd expect to be shot right away is Junior Neville."

She was silent for a moment, processing that. Miles watched her carefully. He felt comfortable with his read on the Neville boy, but Charlie was more of a mystery. Sure, she'd jumped in front of the kid a few times when Miles would have been happy to just get rid of him. But did that translate to something deeper?

"Does – does he know that?" she asked hesitantly, looking back up to meet his eyes.

"He knows the policy on desertion and rebels," Miles said, keeping his pace even. "I didn't trick him into anything."

"I didn't mean," she paused and grimaced. "It's just an awful lot of danger for him to jump into like this."

Miles hummed in agreement and held up a hand, halting the group so he could check the next cross street for possible militia or witnesses.

When he motioned them forward again, she was ready with another question.

"Do you think he's for real?"

"Do you?" he asked. "Not to be blunt, but I'm pretty sure he's not doing this for me or Danny."

She blushed. _Ah, so she does know that._

"I remember most of what happened last night," she admitted, "but not everything. By the time I figured out that he was seriously joining us, he'd gotten your approval and there wasn't really time for me to question his… motives."

"And yet I got such lip when I sent him off to rescue Aaron," Miles mused.

She blushed again. "I was – it seemed like a big risk, and just, I thought, it's just…"

Her sentence stumbled off into incoherence, and Miles held up his hand.

"Yeah, I get it," he said knowingly. Clearly, his niece had hit her head hard enough that she was now worried about the muscle-bound Neville boy. "So I'll tell you what I told him: this is no place for teenage, uh, crap. If you make me babysit you, I will not hesitate to handcuff you and Aaron together."

"Miles!" Charlie's glare was pure teenage annoyance, and Miles had a moment of silent grief that his brother wasn't the Matheson on the receiving end of it.

Then he glared right back. "I mean that."

"Not to interrupt this touching family moment," Nora said from behind them with a laugh lurking in her voice, "but we're almost there, aren't we?"

He looked up and saw the brownstones giving way to the familiar brick buildings of old Philadelphia. They'd been carefully working their way through the residential areas around the once bustling tourist center that had housed the Liberty Bell. It was now, of course, the nerve center of the Monroe Republic. Bass had liked the sense of history; holding court in Independence Hall had appealed to the people, and to his budding megalomaniac side.

"Yeah, so we are."

They were half a dozen blocks from the periphery that would have soldiers manning checkpoints at every possible entry. The final meeting point was an old garden, locked and forgotten, about two blocks from their position. If Jason wasn't there, they'd have to move on assuming that he'd never made it out of the center of the city.

* * *

"Smith, pick up your damn feet!"

Jason crouched, hidden behind the remains of a rusted out dumpster. He had been waiting for this militia company to get out of his way for the last 15 minutes, getting more and more worried as the time slipped away. The guilty Smith, in what looked like a private's uniform, was in the rear of the group, and apparently Jason wasn't the only one who wanted him to move faster.

Instead, the entire group halted in front of his position while the captain lit into his lagging soldier. Jason winced sympathetically when he heard the dull thud of flesh hitting flesh. He'd been on the receiving end of "instructional punishment" plenty of times himself. The tirade continued, but his attention was pulled to the two men guarding the supply cart as they swapped complaints under their breath and waited it out.

"Captain's in a fair mood, eh?"

"Hell, I'm in a mood. Pulled out of bed in the middle of the night and force-marched off to Willow Grove? Horseshit."

"You know everyone's on high alert after the armory."

"Couldn't we keep high profile prisoners a _little _closer to base, though? 14 goddamn miles."

"Shut up or you'll be the next Smith, idiot."

The conversation ended when the captain shouted the command to move out, and Jason shrank back into the shadows, trying to make sure he was totally hidden until the street was quiet. _High profile prisoners?_ He couldn't remember ever being told that there was a separate location for prisoners – just the main prison, on base.

_Oh hell, it was a trap. _

The horizon was paling in anticipation of dawn as Jason jumped up, his heart racing. He had to get to Charlie before she walked into an ambush of well-rested, well-prepared militia and an empty jail.

Erupting out of the alley at full speed, he tripped over something lying in the middle of the street and went down hard, just getting his hands in front of himself before he hit the pavement. With a frustrated snarl he looked down at the offending obstacle and his eyes widened. The straps of a supply pack were wrapped around his right leg.

Jason disentangled himself and moved to the side of the street, quickly assessing the contents inside the militia-issue bag.

Rations, about three days' worth. A small container of ammunition. A bar of soap. And three sets of uniform blues, all with the name "Smith" stitched onto them. With a brief apology to the hapless private who was going to be extra miserable until he was re-posted to base, Jason re-closed the bag and hefted it across his back.

Time to go. There was a plan bouncing around in his head, and he always thought better when he was moving.

* * *

Major Tom Neville could feel the rage pulsing, pulling at the leash he had on it. The idiot Matheson boy, full of foolish ideals and that innate goodness that just irritated him, was keeping him from his wife and son. The twelve hours had to be close to over, but he wouldn't be able to go to Julia and Jason himself. _Damn Monroe and his paranoia. _

As the long night had ticked away, one endless second after another, he'd known his options were extremely limited. If he sent another soldier to check on his family, he ran the risk of Monroe finding out that he'd kept Matheson's presence from him. If the household staff did show up, despite his hasty, late-night requests that they take the day off, the same risk applied.

No, this was something he had to do himself. But Monroe's orders still held, and so he watched the sun rise with an itch in his veins that he could not allow himself to scratch.

He'd come so close to tipping his hand to the blond boy who sat in the interrogation room to his right. All he'd wanted to do was rage and hurt and punish anyone who stood between him and Julia, but the way Danny's eyes had widened and then immediately narrowed had reminded Tom that he was handing ammunition to the enemy. So he'd stormed out and taken a quick calming walk around the secret research facility, leaving two men guarding the door.

After finishing his first annoyed loop of the main floor, he changed course abruptly and took three sharp lefts and the stairs to the basement. Walking wasn't helping. He had the urge to go poke at the tiger herself.

She was there, working, using the power generator to listen to a jazz album. Tom paused in the doorway and rolled his shoulders, the strangeness and familiarity of music in the air hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"Are you just going to stand there and listen or did you need something from me, Major?" Rachel Matheson's voice was strikingly even, and she didn't bother to lift her blonde head from the work she was doing. Still, he knew her weak spot, and forcing her to expose it would distract him from the beast of rage with which he still wrestled.

"Oh, I'm just taking a break," he said smoothly, putting on a smile and coming into the room. "Your son and I have been… disagreeing on a few things."

Her hand froze in the motion of reaching for a tool, just for a moment, and he greeted the rush of power like a drowning man gasping for air.

"If you hurt him I won't help you," she said, holding the even tone of voice but betraying her tension in the way she bit off each word.

He was tired of looking at the back of her head. It reminded him of Julia's bright hair, and he didn't want to think about Julia right now. He needed to re-establish order in the world. Tom circled the workbench so that he was facing her.

"Oh, but if you won't help us we'll just kill him," he said with an easy grin. "And really, any alive is better than all dead, wouldn't you say?"

She came at him then, a blowtorch clenched in her fist and he just managed to knock her hand to the side as the flame sputtered and died, too far outside the range of the little power-giving necklace. He used her momentum to sweep her legs out from under her and pinned her to the floor with his knee in her back.

"Now Rachel," he said soothingly, "is that any way to ensure that Danny has an easy night? You're just giving me ideas."

Her hand went limp, letting the blowtorch roll to the floor. He picked it up and stepped away, letting her stand and walk back to her bench. He might enjoy prodding her own helpless fury, but he didn't want to be reported to Monroe for manhandling the general's favorite prisoner.

"Just came to say hello, then?" She was looking at him now. That infuriatingly calm voice, which had always grated on him, was belied by the murder in her blazing eyes. Funny, he thought, how her son had mastered that look without seeing his mother in person for most of his life.

He weighed the useless blowtorch in his hand for a few seconds, and then tossed it back onto the table. It relit, and she had to bend to turn it off. He moved to the door, content that for now, the rage was hers to fight uselessly. He should really just leave it at that.

"Not hello," he said, deciding that he didn't care. They were so protected here that even if Matheson did make it in, he'd never leave alive. "I came to say goodbye."

Rachel stared at him openly, her face revealing an unusual flash of confusion, before her bravado returned. "Going away, then? I can't say I wish you well."

"Remember your timetable," he suggested, "and you might even see your son again before it's all over."

He nodded to the guard outside the room to secure the door as he left, feeling her eyes burning into his back until he climbed the stairs. Much better. He almost felt optimistic. They'd pick up the renegades soon, there'd be a few executions and everything would be as it should again. Maybe he'd go to the mess hall and see if there were any apples left.

* * *

The kid was late. Charlie had managed to force Miles to wait so far, but he wasn't going to listen to her for much longer. The guards were about to change shifts and Aaron knew their best chance of sneaking into headquarters would slip away if they missed that.

"Miles." Nora's voice was hard, but so low that Aaron couldn't make out her words as they talked on the other side of the overgrown garden. He glanced at Charlie, who was vibrating with tension and probably seconds from storming over there, demanding that they be reasonable, or noble, or that Miles again do the impossible. Aaron reached out and touched her arm.

"Better let them have it out, Charlie," he said on a sigh. "Everyone's just on edge."

"But what good is keeping to the timetable without Na-, Jason here to get us in?" she asked urgently. "The whole plan falls apart, Aaron."

"And that's why you're pacing like a maniac, right?" he asked. The look he sent her was sympathetic, and a bit sad. Charlie couldn't hold his stare for very long.

"He should have been here by now," she said, for a moment allowing the fear and worry to creep into her voice. He could see that her mind kept being pulled back to worst cases: her father in the dirt, Maggie bleeding out on that diner floor. "He should have beaten us here, all on his own."

"Charlie," Aaron pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. "This is all very confusing. One minute he's a spy working for his father, and the next, you don't want me to hit him with a frying pan and Miles invites him to join us on our totally-not-doomed attempt on Monroe."

"It's complicated," she said shortly. "You know that."

"I know – there's a lot about what's going on in the world that I don't know," he said with a grimace. "I don't know why the power went off, I don't know what Monroe wanted with your father, or why Miles ran away from the Militia, not really. I don't know if my wife is alive, or if I'll ever drink a Coke again. But I do know that you have liked that boy from the first day he joined up with us." He paused for a second and grinned. "You were a little mad when you found out he was playing you, but you kept on liking him. You never wanted me to hit him in the head with a frying pan, did you?"

She was blushing, and glared pointlessly at Miles and Nora, heads still bent together. "I don't know what you're talking about. I just want to save my brother," she muttered, before a thought struck her. "Wait, what did you say about your wife?"

Aaron didn't answer, he wasn't about to get into that story right now. Thankfully, another voice rang through the leafy enclosure, heavy with relief.

"You're still here. Thank god."

Charlie spun to the entrance with a lump in her throat, Aaron's history forgotten. She fought back the impulse to run to Jason, to check that it was really him, that he was all in one piece. It's not like she would ever do something that lame over a boy, not even in her head, she assured herself, swallowing hard. His eyes were warm when they met hers, and she forgot to breathe for a minute.

"Took you long enough," Nora said sharply. "Why the extra time?"

Charlie bristled at her tone, annoyed that she was so obviously refusing to accept Jason after all that he'd done. And then she realized what she'd just admitted to herself – _I trust him_. After all the lies, she trusted him – so much so that she was irritated if Nora questioned him, even a little. _This is crazy,_ she thought breathlessly, sinking down onto the bench Aaron had just vacated.

Jason shot her a confused look, and she suspected she had let more than a few of her thoughts play out on her face. She smiled weakly, and he lifted an eyebrow and turned back to Nora.

She felt seasick, her stomach rolling with relief, following closely by fear and guilt. She'd been so worried about Jason that she hadn't worried enough about their plan to save Danny. If they'd missed their window, if her brother suffered because she had a crush…

"We have to change the plan," Jason said firmly, setting a large bag at his feet. This had eyebrows up all around the garden.

"No. No changes." her uncle growled out. "If we leave now we can still-"

"Hear me out," Jason interrupted. "I have new information."

"Information acquired while screwing up our old plan?" Miles sounded hard and tired, but Charlie could tell he was listening.

Jason crossed his arms and continued, undaunted by her uncle's sarcasm. "They're not holding Danny at headquarters. We're going the wrong way."

* * *

**A/N: **Some longing looks, some blushing, some action! Some rage monster. And Jason just INSISTED on being in most of these bits. He's so needy.

Onward, lovely reviewers!

**CelticCrossings:** It's coming back soon! Hope you liked this one.

**AslanPrincess:** I'm glad my Miles is working for you. He's definitely one of my favorites to write. I do love good sarcasm.

**Cori573:** I hope this one made you smile too.

**Boasamishipper:** So, this was NOT faster. I think it was slower. Poop. Neville's bit in this chapter was my favorite to write, which is probably not a good insight into my own head.

**PixieSky:** I am enjoying Danny's character a lot! He didn't show up much in this because of surprise Rachel (!) but I have big plans for our blond boy. And I managed (finally) to get Jason back with the group. So now he and Charlie can get back to irritating Miles.

**Bookdiva:** Thanks for the congrats! Big life moment and all that. But eeeeee, I swear I didn't abandon you. I just – there were things, and stuff, and plot that bugged me and endgame to plan… yeah, I don't have an excuse. But I do have story! So there's that.

**Kotero:** I'm so glad this is one of your favorites! I think the show NOT being on makes it hard to keep momentum in a way, because you have to work from all the old stuff and just wait. Yeah, Aaron's not really great at stealth, poor guy.

**Adi blueberry:** Ask and you shall receive (a month later, but still!)

**Guest:** Thanks for the review and the kind words. :)

**Scifigirl10:** I love your panda! I know, the show is still way far away. But here's some story, and I'll work up the last few chapters faster now.

**Letsplaywithfire:** you win the "oh I should go finish that chapter" reviewer award. Seriously. I got the notification that you'd reviewed and it definitely got me to sit down and do the final revise on this sucker. So thanks for taking the time to leave me that one little word. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Look! A new chapter! And I've still got 12 days before the show comes back! I'm so going to make it. (Shhh, Miles, no one cares what you think.)

Favorites, follows and reviews, oh my! I'm so so so glad you're all still enjoying this. I think especially since it was MEANT to be a one/two shot, I've been really nervous that it's less interesting now that the initial premise is old news. So thanks for sticking around!

A little domestic!Aaron and scheming!everyone for your reading enjoyment. I'm starting to get really excited about how this is going finish up.

* * *

"God, no, absolutely not!"

"Charlie, no way. That's not what I meant."

Miles and Jason fought to be heard over each other's objections, and their unified front made Charlie want to punch something. Or someone.

She looked to Nora and Aaron for support, but Aaron was staring off at the sky, white-faced. Nora shook her head and said, "You're on your own, kid."

They'd walked for the last several hours, at high speeds, trying to make up time. Miles and Jason both estimated they were maybe two miles from the old power plant that had been converted to a research facility in Willow Grove. Neither man was sure why prisoners would be held there, but they'd settled on Monroe trying to trap them at the main base.

Jason's stolen bag was at his feet, the contents spilled onto the ground in the forest grove they'd stopped in for cover. He'd laid out his plan: He would bring Miles in as a captive and then Nora and Charlie and Aaron would create a diversion with an explosion, giving Miles and Aaron time to grab Danny and get out.

"There are two uniforms," she insisted. "And I have the militia brand. Why not let me use it?"

"It's too dangerous," Miles growled. "You're not trained for this."

"I'm sorry, what exactly have I been training for these last few months when I walked from Chicago to Pennsylvania, got thrown off a train," Charlie saw Jason wince at that, "and infiltrated the most fortified city in the Monroe Republic?"

"But Charlie, in close combat-" Jason began, taking a step toward her, his hands out in a conciliatory gesture.

"You think I'll be a liability, don't you?" she snapped at Miles, tears starting in her eyes. "After all that we've been through, the number of times that I've-"

"Stop it, Charlie," her uncle said tiredly. "You want to count? We can count the number of times your crazy ideas got you captured, or one of us injured, or gave away our position…"

"Miles, that's not really fair," Nora broke in, her voice slow and reluctant. "We've all made mistakes. And she had the steepest learning curve."

"So you think she should play soldier?" Miles asked coldly.

"Danny won't _know_ either of you! He'll only know Na-Jason," Charlie still stumbled not to think of him as Nate Walker, and in her emotional state she forgot to check herself, "because he was part of his father's company, the men that captured him. And you haven't seen him since he was a kid, Miles."

There was a moment of silence as the other four processed this.

"The only people in this group that he knows are Aaron and me," she said stubbornly. "And Aaron isn't branded."

Miles threw up his hands, looking to Nora and Aaron for better arguments. Jason looked disapproving, but Charlie was pretty sure he could be convinced.

"Miles," she pleaded, walking over and looking into his hard eyes. "He's my little brother. I need to be there."

He rubbed his hands over his face before pushing them up into his hair in exasperation.

"Dammit, Charlie," he said, "you will follow every single order we give you. No sudden changes in plan, no ideas, no exploring." Charlie felt like his eyes, no longer hard, were pleading with her. "We're in and out as cleanly as possible."

"Deal," she said solemnly. She stuck out her hand, and her uncle took it in his own. He shook it once, and then rolled his eyes and pulled her in for brief hug.

"You remember our agreement," he said sternly, and she nodded reassurance before realizing he was looking away from her, at Jason. Twisting her head, she saw Jason take a deep breath before answering.

"I do, sir."

"Then you'd better do your best to make her a soldier, Junior." He stalked off, leaving Jason and Charlie alone next to the bag of supplies.

* * *

Jason tried to steady his shaky emotions as Matheson stormed away. They'd been covering ground at breakneck speed, working out the details of the plan on the go. Nora's stash, luckily, had been intact, but that had meant strapping several pounds of explosives to their backs and hoping they didn't get stopped or searched as they moved in broad daylight. They'd long since lost the cover of darkness, and as the sun had risen, Charlie had gotten more and more vocal about her involvement.

It wasn't that he didn't believe in her, but Miles was right. No matter what she'd seen – and he still needed to hear the rest of that story about the opium grower – this was different. He and Matheson and Nora, they'd signed up for this life, one way or another. But Charlie and Aaron both had a certain innocence that no one in the group really wanted to endanger.

"One of these uniforms is going to look all wrong," Charlie said, pulling him from his thoughts as she bent down to shake out one of the shirts with SMITH across the chest. "Either too big for me or too small for you."

Right, because the thing that would give her away was her uniform being the wrong size, he thought with a wry smile. Not the wide-open eyes, the inability to take orders, the hesitation to inflict violence. But he couldn't do much about those now.

"If we're lucky," he said, clearing his throat past the lump that was in his way, "he's one who doesn't have the money to have things repaired and…" Jason knelt next to her and felt around the lining of the militia-issued bag until his fingers felt a small lump. "There we go."

He ripped away the loose fabric and pulled out what fell into his hand. It was two metal needles, three or four small wooden spools of thread, and the real prize, a tiny pair of metal scissors.

"Are those…" Charlie trailed off, her surprise evident.

"Scissors and some needles, yeah. Contraband." He rolled the valuable metal around in his palm. "Completely illegal, but repairing other soldiers' uniforms can be a lucrative side job if the recruit is good enough at it."

"I haven't seen a working pair of scissors in years," she said softly, reaching out to take them off his hand. Her fingers brushed his skin and he blinked at the rush of heat that went through him, mildly embarrassed when he saw that she was entranced with opening and closing the tool over unresisting blades of grass.

"How's your sewing?" he asked hopefully. He was serviceable with needle and thread, but his work wouldn't stand up under close inspection.

"It's pretty lousy, honestly," she admitted. "I was always better at, uh, outdoor tasks."

Jason sighed, although he wasn't surprised. "Well, I'll give it a shot. If you're going to come we'll have to tailor one of these down quickly."

He held the shirt Charlie had been examining up to her small frame, seeing that it was going to be far too long and wide for her slender build. The last time he'd done any needlework was years ago, when his mother had taught him to repair his socks after he'd ripped the third pair in a week. It was a punishment, but she'd made sure he could do it to her satisfaction, and he was relatively sure he could still remember the basics.

"Ok, so I guess it probably needs to be about, uh, that much shorter," he said, pulling out the scissors and preparing gingerly to make a first snip where the garment should end.

"What are you doing? That's going to be way too short – are those scissors?" Aaron wandered over to watch the proceedings, and Jason scowled at the criticism.

"Uniforms are supposed to hang to the hips," he said.

"Yeah, but if you cut it that high, you can't turn the hem, and then it'll be totally obvious that it's a rush job," Aaron countered.

Jason and Charlie stared at him.

"I thought you worked in computers," Charlie said slowly, "you know, before."

"It hurts my soul that saying the word 'ComicCon' will mean nothing to the two of you," Aaron said, "but let me just say, I cosplayed a fair number of Star Wars characters in my day." At their blank looks, he rolled his eyes. "I sewed my own costumes for fan conventions. You're going to do it all wrong."

Jason considered his own experience – socks and small tears – and reluctantly handed the small sewing kit to the larger man. Aaron motioned to Charlie to put the shirt on, and she shrugged out of her jacket, handing it to Jason.

"Costumes, huh?" she said with a smile in her voice. "I hope I don't come out looking like those comic books we found in seventh grade. That woman was not wearing enough clothing."

"Charlie, she's _Wonder Woman_, she doesn't need clothing when she's got the lasso of truth," Aaron said absently.

Jason had completely lost track of their conversation, but Charlie turned back to share an amused grin before sliding the uniform over his head. The warmth and laughter in her eyes hit him like a rock in the solar plexus, and he was still struggling to catch his breath when her head reemerged from the tent of faded blue fabric and she turned to face Aaron.

He would do just about anything to get her to look at him like that again, Jason admitted to himself with a sad twist in his gut. Hell, he was doing it right now, going into the lion's den to face the worst of the Monroe Republic on the slight chance that they could find and save her brother.

He bent to retrieve the other set of clothing. Smith had been almost his size, luckily, so his shoulders didn't strain the seams of his borrowed uniform too badly. The second pair of pants, he shook out and walked over to where Charlie was talking about… the Amazon? Warriors? She and Aaron were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn't notice him lay the clothing on the bench.

"But if she's bulletproof, why wear clothes at all?" Charlie was asking with a laugh.

Jason missed the answer, distracted by the way her eyes sparkled as she shook her head. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss her until she agreed to stay hidden and far away from Monroe, and the militia, and his father. Instead, he was going to walk her right inside. How the hell was he going to keep her safe?

* * *

Miles had to admit, Junior was thorough. The kid had checked Charlie over three times – although the last round Miles suspected had been just to do some unnecessary touching – and her uniform looked as spot-on as it could with the mere hour they'd given Aaron to shrink it down to her size. Her shoes were wrong, but that wasn't unusual. They'd left the "Smith" on her chest, giving her an honorary last name.

Young Neville had spent his hour nervously picking out the "Smith" on his own shirt. Miles could tell that bringing Charlie wasn't making Junior happy either. They'd decided that as an actual militia member, Jason might know soldiers and officers on base, so they would be less inclined to question him. That was why he was using the stolen bag to hide Miles' sword. Hopefully he wouldn't be searched.

And of course, Miles thought as they walked the final mile to the facility, most of the assembled onlookers would be distracted by his presence. Ex-General Matheson, returned at last. _Yippee-ki-yay, you bastards._

He hadn't said anything to Charlie when the plan was proposed, but there was no way they'd stay together once they brought him in. The moment the militia had him in custody, he knew orders were to put him under heavy guard and have him brought to Monroe. What he didn't know was whether Bass would wait at headquarters for him, or have expected him to make it here, the true target.

Was he about to face down his best friend for a second time?

Miles shook his head, unwilling to dwell on the bittersweet rush of emotions that question raised in him. Better to think about how Nora had kissed him, rather thoroughly, before heading off with Aaron to set up the diversion. In about 45 minutes, she would bring down the east wall of the compound, and hopefully that would give them enough cover to fight their way out with his teenage nephew.

"Miles, what if they hurt you?" Charlie's soft voice cut through his reverie.

"Shh, Charlie, we're too close to talk," the boy whispered. "Act like a soldier."

"He's right," Miles said under his breath. "No matter what, you stay in character. Your job is to get Danny and get out."

Charlie turned her blue eyes onto him, realization crystalizing as they widened. Miles stared back, offering her no further reaction. He'd just given himself away, he knew, but hopefully Junior could keep her on track. If she started trying to weigh saving his life against her brother's, she'd be mired in guilt and unable to decide. Or she'd do something stupid early and miss the chance to save anyone. Junior halted and slid a gag down over Miles' face as planned, and they made the final turn in the path that led to the power plant. Charlie shifted to behind him, her crossbow aimed in his general direction to indicate that he'd been captured.

They had only walked another fifty feet when three men erupted from the forest, guns pointed at them.

"Identify yourselves! _Now_, soldier!" one of them yelled, addressing Jason Neville. Miles tensed, and adopted a defeated glower as Charlie raised her crossbow and pointed it between his shoulder blades.

"Ease up," Jason said calmly. "Lieutenant Jason Neville, Private Charlotte Smith, bringing in a high-priority prisoner."

"This facility is closed; no transfers, no surprises," a second soldier growled. "You can't come in here." Miles fought the urge to roll his eyes, and then remembered that he didn't have to pretend anything – he was playing himself. So he sent the soldiers his best "_are you an idiot_" look.

"Oh, you'll let us in," Jason said confidently. "General Monroe won't want to risk Miles Matheson getting free on the march to the next militia base."

His name fell into the clearing like a bomb, and all three men reeled back, training their guns directly on him. He heard a sharp inhale behind him, and said a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that Charlie could hold onto her terrible ideas until they had fewer guns pointed at them.

"Matheson?"

"How in the hell?"

Two of them were stuttering over each other, looking pale and anxious. Miles was watching the third man, whose eyes had narrowed as he looked back at Jason and Charlie.

"Would have thought the famous general would put up more of a fight," he said finally, letting his skepticism bleed through his words.

They were ready for this, Miles thought with relief.

"I've got a bruise the size of a dinner plate on the side of my head, and Smith there actually got knocked out and has an egg-shaped bump on her head," Junior bit out. "Sorry if that's not enough for you, but it's enough for me."

The skeptic made to open his mouth again, but Jason continued with a hard edge to his voice. "If you have more questions, how about you ask them _inside_, where there is a smaller chance that his rebel buddies might find us. If you don't mind, corporal?" Miles allowed himself to be mildly impressed.

"Fine, we'll walk him in-" the disbelieving corporal began.

"No way," Charlie interrupted desperately, and both Miles and Jason turned to look at her in warning.

"She's right," Jason recovered quickly. "We worked hard to bring him in, we're not giving you guys the credit for this one. We walk him in."

"What unit did you say she was with?" the corporal asked, and Miles sincerely wanted to kick his teeth in.

"_Inside_, corporal," Jason ground out, taking Miles' arm and shoving him forward. The whole group started moving back to the entrance, the guns still trained on his chest.

One of the other soldiers spoke up again as the corporal went forward to the door to explain what was happening to the guard.

"Hey, did you say you were Jason Neville?"

"Why?" Jason asked guardedly.

"Cause Major Neville got in early this morning," the man answered. "Your dad, right? Little family reunion, I guess."

Miles shot a look at Junior, hoping the news that his father was here wouldn't throw him too badly. Tom Neville would make this harder for everyone if his son couldn't convince him that he'd somehow overpowered Miles and known to bring him here. The boy clenched his jaw and looked away for a moment, hiding his reaction. When he faced the group again, his face was set and unreadable.

"Good, please let him know I'm here. This directly concerns him."

Miles swallowed a smile. A direct offensive? If he wasn't careful he'd start liking this kid.

The doors swung open; they were in.

* * *

Danny had been sitting in the interrogation room for hours – it was hard to count with no windows or clocks. He'd tried yelling, but the guards outside had ignored him, and since he was tied to a chair, he couldn't do much else. He must have drifted into sleep after trying futilely to free his hands, because the banging of the door opening had him jerking up in his seat.

"Oh, did I interrupt your nap?" The man's voice wasn't one he immediately recognized, and Danny tensed. New people hadn't tended to be gentle since his capture.

"I can come back later if this is a bad time," the man continued, sounding almost amused.

Danny didn't answer, but he couldn't resist looking to see who it was. His eyes widened involuntarily when he saw his mother, held by a guard, standing behind a tall man with shockingly blue eyes and a cruel face. General Monroe.

"You see, Rachel?" Monroe continued, "I told you Neville wouldn't have hurt him. Now can we be done with your little temper tantrum and get that device finished, please? I wouldn't want to have to change my position on young Daniel's wellbeing."

"You didn't see him, Bass," his mother said softly. "That man was insane. I had to be sure."

"General!" a shout came from just outside the open door. Monroe looked annoyed. "Urgent message from the front gate, sir. They're saying they've got Matheson."

Everyone in the room froze. Danny's heart dropped as he pictured Charlie in the hands of the men who had beaten him so often on the trip to Philadelphia. His mother was white as a sheet, and even Monroe looked stunned for a moment. But he recovered quickly.

"Take them both to the cell block," the general ordered his mother's guard. His voice was low and dangerous. "I don't want either one let out until I give the order personally."

The guard reached down to untie Danny, and Monroe looked at his mother.

"Rachel, this may keep me for an hour or two," he said smoothly, making Danny scowl. The asshole talked like he was taking her out to dinner or something. "But we'll get back to work when this is resolved. Understood?"

"Of course, Bass," she said softly. He nodded, satisfied, and strode away. In his place, two other guards entered with guns drawn.

Finally, free, Danny stood and walked over to his mother. She looked inquiringly at the original guard who nodded briskly. Permission granted, she wrapped her arms around Danny's waist, and he followed suit.

"I'm so glad you're ok," she said softly, but loud enough to be heard by all in the room.

"All right, enough, let's get moving," the guard muttered.

She squeezed him one last time, and as she pulled away he felt something heavy fall into his right pants pocket. Danny could barely catch her next words, but he thought she whispered "be ready" when she kissed his forehead.

Then they were moving, ushered back through the suddenly bustling corridors. His heart raced, and he was fighting the urge to check his pocket, to see if the mystery item was still there. He just barely remembered to keep his head up and look for Eve as he was led back to his cell, but it looked like she was asleep on her cot. His mother was locked into a cell about four down from Danny's on the same side.

As the door to his own clanged shut, he assumed his slouched and bored position, pretending to ignore the guard who was newly stationed at his end of the hallway. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared up at the ceiling, biting the inside of his cheeks to contain his reaction when his right hand closed around the cool metal of a key.

He didn't know how his mother had done it, or what the next step in her plan might be. But he knew one thing: if Charlie couldn't save him, he'd just have to save Charlie.

* * *

**A/N:** Heroic!Danny is pretty adorable. He'll totally be back. And Rachel is always badass, so I don't think she needs special designation as such. She's smarter than all of us. Seriously.

Also, can we all just take a minute to pity poor smitten!Jason? Because really, that boy is in trouble.

My lovely reviewers, you always brighten my day. Notes below:

**Becc-gallanter: **I think the fact that Miles has grown so fond of Charlie is beyond adorable, and really centers the show emotionally. So I'm super glad that their interactions read well to you! I snuck this one in just a week, but I'm going to have to speed up if I want to finish on time….

**Kotero: **Yeah, Charlie's got a lot on her plate, emotionally, so the whole falling in love thing is fighting with sister guilt and sad-father feelings and "oh did I almost just die again?" worry. But it's insidious, and she won't be able to ignore it forever.

**Kiwiflea: **Thanks so much! It's nice to know you're still reading. TWELVE DAYS! And then helicopters. Wow, remember the helicopters?

**Thalia Bolt: **Oooh, I like your screenname! Thank you very much for the kind review, and say hi to Artemis for me.

**Cori573: **Yeah, Miles DOES NOT LIKE being wrong. Serves him right. For something. Nora will know what.

**Sam0728: **All my best fanfic experiences read about like that, so I'm super excited to be providing such fun for you. The fandom is young yet, and very strangely fixated on exploring one relationship. So hopefully it'll grow and branch out as the show comes back! (I hope you liked the update!)

**Mandaluv: **Yeeeeesss, I got a "DUN DUN DUN" review. Cue silly grin. Thank you for the nice compliment! Cue sillier grin.

**Sportygirl23: **Why thank you very much! I do like some fun plot, and it's hard to be fluffy when Miles is ALWAYS RIGHT THERE. (Cmon, Miles, stop babysitting!)


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** UNDER THE WIRE! Ok, it doesn't count. I'm not DONE. (Shhh, Miles, "I told you so" is not a nice thing to say.) But I have a big update! Yay!

I'm so excited for them to bring the show back tonight. I hope everyone gets to watch and enjoy and discuss in comments. (As usual, I left you guys notes at the end.)

Now let's see how this rescue mission goes.

* * *

"Charlie, if my father's here, our best bet is going to be you fading away in the confusion of handing over Miles. It'll be chaos."

Jason's whisper had reached her moments after the door opened. He had been right, this was madness. When they stepped through the door, her uncle was ripped from their grasp, and she and Jason were corralled to a side of the room. For all that he'd protested outside that Miles was their trophy, Jason had known they'd be relegated to a minor role in the official capture.

"Honestly, it's better if they just think it's me. There are too many chances that you'll be recognized, uniform or no," he said under his breath now. The noise in the entry hall was enough that they were able to talk without drawing undue attention.

Charlie glanced nervously at Miles, who was glowering in the center of the room, surrounded by about twenty militiamen of various ranks. They were talking at and about him, taunting the former general with graphic promises of what was in store for a traitor like him. But they weren't touching him.

"What if they hurt M- him?" she whispered back, reluctant to split up and leave Miles undefended.

"They won't, not until he sees General Monroe," Jason said. "Standing orders are alive and unharmed. That should buy us some time."

"But won't they notice if I just leave?" It seemed like a dubious option. It wasn't like she hadn't been seen or given her name. Could they really make it 45 minutes without someone looking for her?

"Watch this," he said with a wink. Jason moved to his left, sidling up to a nervous-looking soldier who hung back a bit from the rest.

"Lieutenant," the man greeted him when Jason made eye contact. "You sure know how to make an entrance."

Jason didn't respond, but shot the man a look Charlie recognized as one her uncle used when he wanted to assert authority. She always thought of it as a "cut the crap, Charlie" look.

"What can I do for you, sir?" the soldier asked, less familiar this time. "We've sent runners for your father and the general, they should get here any minute."

She saw Jason's back go ramrod straight, just as it had when he'd learned that his father was here ahead of them. _The general?_ Monroe was here too? Did that mean they'd just put Miles in real danger?

"Good, I need to brief them on this whole situation," Jason answered after a pause. "But for the moment," he gestured in her direction. "The private helped me keep an eye on the prisoner for part of the walk, but she wasn't expecting to come this far today. Needs a privy, if you've got one."

The soldier looked around Jason at her, and Charlie played along, attempting a pained smile, as if she hadn't made sure to go in the woods before the three of them set off.

"She'd have to have an escort. Not a lot of women here, honestly," the man shrugged. "Most of us use outhouses behind the bunkhouse. Only privy is downstairs near the holding cells. Couple of female prisoners."

Charlie started shifting back and forth, trying to look as uncomfortable as possible. If she could get escorted down to the holding cells, maybe she'd see Danny. At the very least, she'd know how to bring Miles and Jason back when it was time.

"I should really stay here," Jason said as if considering being her escort. The soldier nodded agreement. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Sergeant Fields, sir."

"Sergeant, can I count on you to do the honors?"

Fields looked dubious, so Charlie bounced from one foot to the other, hoping it would pass as someone desperate to use the facilities. After an interminable few seconds, he snapped off a salute to Jason and nodded.

"Suppose I can, sir. Better hurry, private, they'll want you back here right quick." Fields turned toward the far corridor and Charlie had a moment to meet Jason's eyes. Some of her anticipation must have shown on her face, because his eyes darkened with worry.

"Be careful," they both whispered. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he suppressed a smile, and then he nodded in the direction that Fields was moving.

"Better get going. Behave yourself, private." His words were sharp with warning, but it was the softness on his face that sped up her pulse. Well, that and the prospect of going, alone, into the depths of an enemy base.

"You too, Lieutenant," she said, trying to keep her tone even and respectful, while still conveying her fear that the coming meeting was fraught with danger for both Jason and Miles. As she passed him, he casually moved his arm out, brushing hers and catching her hand for half a second. The contact steadied her. She exhaled – trusting him to live through the next few minutes, to keep her uncle alive, to find her again – and walked down the hallway after the retreating sergeant.

* * *

Nora was tired. Ever since getting stabbed in Pennsylvania by that misguided rebel, she'd fought to hide the occasional twinge, preferring that Miles focus his worry on any of the other members of their party. There was Charlie, who couldn't walk a mile without finding another hopeless crusade or wandering wide-eyed into a militia trap. Aaron had grown less astonished and grimmer as the distance between them and Chicago had increased. And now they'd picked up Jason Neville, who was probably planning to kill them all and abscond with Charlie for his own nefarious Neville purposes.

Yes, there were many things he needed to worry about that trumped her inability to run for more than a mile without getting winded.

"So listen, I know you wound up stuck with me because, let's face it, they didn't think I'd be helpful inside, but I can help," Aaron insisted from behind her. "Let me help."

She paused in her cataloguing of gear and looked up at him. He towered over her, even if she was on her knees, and she motioned him to the right, out of her light.

"This is a two person job, Aaron," she said shortly. "There will be work for you. Right now, that's to watch for anyone on patrol so we have time to hide all of this before they show up."

He crossed his arms and looked at her for a few beats before nodding. "Fine, yeah, watch for patrols. Cause we all know I'm incredibly good at the soldier stuff." But he shuffled off to do a perimeter check, and Nora smiled. She was starting to suspect that his "I'm just a civilian" protests were mostly to allow the group dynamic to stay stable. He knew what he was doing.

She turned her attention back to the mess of dynamite and rolled up fuse. She'd checked about half of the sticks so far, and it looked like most of them had survived intact despite all these years in hiding. She'd only had to toss three because of damp powder.

As she worked, she listened intently, tracking Aaron's movements around her position, noting the noises of birds and the creaking of the trees in the breeze. Miles may not have a firm plan past getting into that facility, but her part of this show needed to go off without a hitch. He could improvise; she needed to know her lines exactly. They needed a distraction, a big one, and an exit. She would provide both.

Once she'd determined how much dynamite she was working with, Nora separated the delicate sticks of packed powder into three unequal piles. She then wrapped them back in their protective oilskin and placed two piles into her bag, sliding the third into Aaron's.

She was dividing the fuse when he walked back into the clearing.

"Well, I haven't met any soldiers yet, but I have no idea if that's because they're all ninjas like Miles or super soldiers like the kid," he said, keeping his voice low. "You done yet?"

"Only just." Using her knife to make the final split, she shoved one of the balls of fuse into his pack and pocketed the other two.

He looked down at the pack, obviously uneasy.

"You said you wanted to help," she sighed. "Don't quit on me now."

"I just," he began, "I'm not…" She watched him pull his glasses off and rub the sweat off his face. "This isn't exactly my area of expertise."

She stood, gently lifting her pack and sliding it over one shoulder. She'd cradle it in one of her arms for the walk – no sense in jarring loose all her hard work. When she looked over her shoulder he was still standing there, looking down.

"Aaron."

"Right, yeah. Coming." He dropped to one knee, and she saw his hand shake as he slowly eased his pack off the ground. When it didn't immediately explode in his face, his shoulders dropped in relief.

"Just try not to hold it upside down," she reminded him with gentle humor before starting off.

They walked east for about 10 minutes, following the memory of the dirt sketches that Miles and young Neville had argued over when settling the details of the plan this morning. She kept to the woods, careful to check any path or clearing before motioning Aaron across. They hadn't seen hide or hair of a soldier, and it was starting to creep her out. Miles in captivity was a really good distraction, apparently.

The man on the other side of the tree took her by surprise. Apparently he felt the same, because he froze in the process of using the tree as his own private necessary. He didn't even have time to refasten his pants before she'd slid her pack to the ground and attacked. She felt the whoosh of air leaving his body as she landed a kick to his stomach, then she grabbed a handful of his hair and used her grip to smash his head against the tree as hard as she could. He slid to the ground, face down, blood trickling from his forehead.

"Literally caught with his pants down," Aaron said when he'd recovered his composure. Nora glared and shushed him, fighting to catch her breath. They were too close to the road now, to the first of their targets. She stripped the soldier's boot laces and used them to tie his hands, and then she and Aaron dragged him further into the forest. Hopefully, the blow to the head and the distance from the road would leave him disoriented and less able to return and sound the alarm.

The confrontation had slowed them down, and she felt the urgency of a slip in schedule keenly.

"Are you ready for this?" she asked him one more time. "Do it all exactly as I explained."

Aaron didn't bother to answer, but met her gaze, the grim set to his mouth telling her enough. He would take this seriously.

It was time to blow a few holes in Monroe's base.

* * *

Rachel sat, her knees pulled to her chest and her head resting on them, just listening to the sounds of the makeshift prison. She'd been carefully searched when they'd put her in her cell, as she'd known she would be when Bass suddenly announced the change in plan. No one in this place trusted her. The only reason she was still alive was that she'd killed Bradley Jaffe.

It sat heavily on her heart, more so than the other lives she had ended since the blackout. Jaffe had been a friend, a colleague, and his will to resist had been broken only because she had given Bass enough information to find his daughter.

He hadn't deserved death.

But there had been no other options. If he had completed the amplifier without building the failsafe, as she had planned, his daughter might have been safe, but thousands of other children would die screaming.

Still, she hadn't yet been able to get her hands clean of his blood. Rachel knew she had acted as she must, but her soul felt dirty, and she wept for him when she was alone at night.

With deliberate care, she pulled her mind away from the yawning emptiness that contemplating Bradley or Ben created inside of her.

Monroe did not trust her. His soldiers did not trust her. So her key would have been discovered if she'd held onto it. Slipping it into Danny's pocket had been an impulse, as its discovery would have set her planning back by months. Now, though, she was coming to regret the decision.

She barely knew her son. Oh, she loved him unreservedly and would do anything to rescue him from the situation in which he found himself, but she didn't know him. She couldn't predict his moods, check his impulses or pacify his fears because all of those were utterly foreign to her. She'd left him little more than a baby, clinging to his sister's hand. Now he was a man grown, with a boy's gentleness in his eyes.

If Miles was really here… Rachel shivered, unwilling to follow that train of thought. Miles had made his choices, and was of no concern to her anymore. He did not figure into her plan.

Rachel prayed that at some point in his childhood her son had acquired a small measure of his father's ability to read her mind. He was going to need it.

* * *

Miles watched Charlie hurry off down a corridor with considerable relief. She'd met Tom Neville too many times, in too many high intensity situations, to safely play the innocent bystander around him. He wasn't sorry she'd miss meeting Bass, either. His best friend had already done quite a number on the Matheson family.

He glanced to the left, seeing Jason leaning against the wall expectantly. The large bag was at his feet, Miles' sword and the kid's arrows tucked inside along with a few extra knives in case Charlie or his nephew needed to be armed. God, he hoped the young sonofabitch understood how much his performance in the next few minutes would mean. He needed to be amazing.

"Looking a little green around the gills, Matheson," someone taunted him from the right.

"I think the general's feeling a bit outnumbered," another man called.

"We should give 'im a real nice militia welcome."

And then sharp steps were ringing down a hallway – not, he noticed, the one that Charlie had just taken – and the hair on Miles' neck was standing on end. Bass always did like to make an entrance.

"Soldiers, let's give our prodigal some air," Bass was saying, as a path opened in the ring of men to let him approach. Their eyes met, and the warmth and welcome in his former friend's shockingly blue gaze stunned Miles. What was Bass playing at? Where were the threats and the firing squad?

Instead, he held out his hand and gestured for Miles to follow.

"Come, old friend, let's take a walk."

Ah. So the threats and firing squad were coming, but Bass wanted to talk first. The odds would be better, Miles knew, away from this crowd. He and the kid could probably take about half of them down no sweat, but there would be sweat (and likely blood) to get through the rest. He nodded once. He didn't trust himself to speak yet – he would undoubtedly say something nasty that would end this friendly charade. And his job was to buy everyone else time, at least for now.

"Sir, you should not go alone."

Both Bass and Miles looked over at Tom Neville, who was standing a few feet to the left. Bass grimaced.

"No, of course not, please join us. Choose two men as guards, and, is that your son over there? By all means, bring him as well."

Neville, who Miles could see was now ranked Major, nodded and moved efficiently, selecting the other two men and giving instructions to Jason. The kid slung his bag over his arm and fell into step at the back of the group.

The rest of the crowd was dispersing, realizing perhaps that their commanding officer would soon start questioning why half his force was lingering here and not at their posts. _I hope that was enough time, Nora_.

The two guards took his arms, bound behind him, and Bass nodded in the direction that Charlie had vanished not three minutes earlier.

"Shall we?" He was all charm, smiles, the benevolent leader. "We have ever so much to talk about."

With a shove from behind, Miles started moving.

* * *

Danny was sure his mother had given him the key for a reason. He had no idea what that reason might be, but he knew it must exist. If he'd learned anything since meeting her again, it was that she was the single smartest person he'd ever known. Maybe aside from Maggie, but Maggie was a doctor and she had to be smart to do her job. His mother was a scientist, someone who could build machines and create plans. And somehow, he was going to figure this one out.

He turned the key over in his pocket, ever so slowly so he wouldn't accidentally let it slip out into view, and thought as hard as he ever had.

_We're both in cells right now._ So if he used it now, he'd have to fight the guards, and free his mother, and then find Charlie and escape through all the soldiers. _Probably not the plan. _

_General Monroe had said he'd come and get her soon_. But Danny didn't know where she normally stayed, so if he waited to use the key until after Monroe had come and gone, he'd lose her and her guidance. And his chances of finding Charlie in this maze on his own were not good.

Shift change wasn't for another few hours, and the guards never took breaks for anything. If she had someone helping her, maybe there'd be some kind of distraction, but then why would she have needed to give him a key? Why not keep it herself since she knew the plan?

He sighed, and the guard leaning on the wall outside his cage glared at him and hit the bars with his gun.

"Shut up in there."

Maybe, if he could get her attention, she would have a chance to say something to clue him in. Danny stood up and walked to the bars.

"Make me."

The guard growled and crossed his arms. "I'm damn tempted, you little punk. But orders are orders. No one in or out until the general gives the all clear."

That caught Danny's attention.

"You can't come in? Not even to punish me for misbehaving?" He raised his voice to make sure it echoed down the room.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll make it up to you after the fact."

"But we could break so many rules in the meantime," Danny smirked. "We could have an entire conversation and you couldn't do anything to stop us."

There. Maybe that would be hint enough.

"He's got a point, you know." His mother's voice rang through the room, and Danny saw the guard's face convulse with the need to somehow put a stop to this without disobeying his orders.

"What's going on down there?" The guard stationed at the far end of the room, closest to the door, was moving toward them.

"These idiots think they can have a bit of fun at my expense."

"You did just tell us that you weren't allowed to open the doors," his mother sounded amused.

"You told them WHAT?" Oh, that guard did not sound nearly as entertained.

"Oh, give it a rest, Smithers. I'll just give the kid a good beating later."

The door guard had nearly reached them now. Danny was as close as he could get to the bars while maintaining enough distance to evade a hand if the guard lost his patience and decided to grab for his head.

"And I am looking forward to that," he said cheerfully to the two men glowering on the other side of his cage. "But for now, let's all have a nice talk."

"SHUT UP!"

Both guards yelled it at the same time. They were all the way at his end of the room now. Surely that could mean something! The door was unguarded – but he still had to get through two armed men.

"Make me," he taunted again. He could feel his heart pumping, if nothing else, he'd really like to hit someone.

"I could just shoot the idiot," the door guard, Smithers, said.

But there was a sudden clanging at the end of the corridor, and the door flew inward, hitting the wall hard.

"…not the privy, Private!" someone yelled from the hallway.

There were a few thuds, and a groan, and then a female voice said, "Sorry, Sergeant."

But Danny knew that voice. He'd heard it every day for the entirety of his life, until the day his father died.

There was the sound of something being dragged, and then the door slid shut.

"Sorry, can you help me?" his sister yelled to the frozen guards. "He's not moving! Something's wrong. He was just showing me to the privy."

"You can't be in here, soldier," Smithers yelled, hurrying back down the hallway. The other guard hesitated, not wanting to leave his post.

"I know, and I'm really very sorry," Charlie said. "But I don't know what else to do."

A gunshot rang out, and Danny's heart stopped.

"Smithers!" The guard broke post and ran toward the door.

"Now, Danny!" his mother's voice shocked him back into action, and Danny dove for the locked cell door, reaching his hand around and shoving the key into the slot. It turned smoothly and he felt the bolts slide free. His cage unlocked, he stepped out into the corridor in time to see the guard turn back to look at him, his gun raised. Then Charlie lifted a pistol and fired, hitting the guard in the back and dropping him where he stood.

She looked terrified and brave and it was so good to see his big sister standing there.

"Charlie!" he yelled, grinning. She grinned right back and started toward him, stepping around the three bloody militiamen.

They hugged, and Danny wondered how he'd never noticed that his big sister had gotten smaller than him. Then she tugged at his arm.

"We have to go, they'll be checking here soon."

"Yeah, sure, let me just let everyone else out," he said, turning back to his cell door to remove the key.

"No, Danny, there's no time. I'm sorry, we can't help everyone," she said, pulling at his arm again. "Just us, we have to go NOW."

And then it hit him, that she didn't know, and he grinned again.

"Charlie, we can't leave our mom behind."

She froze and then spun to look at him. "What are you talking about?"

Danny hurried to open her door, and Rachel stepped out slowly. He moved down the hall to Eve's cell. Charlie stood and stared.

"Oh god, you're all grown up too." He looked back and saw his mother reach out and brush at a scrape on his sister's face. "Look at you."

"You don't have to bring me," Eve whispered through her bars. "I heard what she said. You can't help everyone."

"Of course we can," he said with a smile, seeing her face clearly for the first time. "We Mathesons are very helpful people." He slid the lock clear and opened her cell.

* * *

**A/N:** Whew. Alas, poor Smithers, I knew him well.

So what did you think? Let me know. There's probably one or two chapters left in this. Sorry if my Monroe didn't have the right feel – I couldn't come up with a way to better the scene in the show, so I'm skirting around the edges a bit. Coming soon: everything blows up. In every way.

**Reviewers!**

**Kiwiflea: **Tonight! I haven't seen the Paley center session, but I will go look that up now that I FINALLY have this chapter done. Jason's a smart one, sending Charlie away from all those soldiers who might catch her out. But I let her kick a little butt – I feel like she DID walk all the way from Chicago to Philly, she deserved it.

**Becc-gallanter: **Thanks so much! Rescue mission: commenced. I won't be satisfied until there are explosions, however.

**Sportygirl23: **Miles has really been missing a second-in-command that he didn't previously date, I think. Let's hope Jason and Danny can live up to expectations.

**KatWolfie63: **Thanks so much! I get super happy when I get a review, so the email happiness is mutual. I've been getting the ad for tonight's ep on my phone after playing games, and I always watch the whole thing. I'm super excited to see Rachel be badass.

**Kotero: **Well, she hasn't been discovered yet. But we all know she doesn't know the meaning of a "trouble-free" mission. Miles, oh Miles. He is going to have to be creative, I think.

**Judith74: **Thanks so much, and welcome! I dunno about amazing, but we have a lot of fun, and I'm certainly enjoying throwing characters together and making them talk about things. :)

**Boasamishipper: **I don't get to complain about late reviews since I string out the chapter posts so far… but this was a chapter 6 review! I hope you found chapter 7! Yes, that Rachel/Neville scene is still one of my favorites from this story.

**Livelovemusic96: **Thanks so much! Hope you liked the later chapters too. :)


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